


The Fear Of Falling Apart

by pogopop



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friends With Benefits, Marvel TV Bang, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Parenthood, Postpartum Depression, Self-Doubt, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop
Summary: Matt is confronted with impending parenthood, which causes him to examine his relationships with his own parents, and whether he can avoid repeating their mistakes. The reality, when it arrives, is a long way from what he expects.Not a fluffy baby fic.





	1. Truth Be Told, I Never Was Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Matt and Elektra have a friends-with-benefits arrangement. 
> 
> Completed work - I'll be posting a chapter daily. This is my longest work so far, so it's been a long slog for me!
> 
> Thanks to sleepyMoritz for lots of beta-reading and idea-discussing.
> 
> Title and chapter titles from This Is Gospel, by Panic! At The Disco

A muffled thump and a creak drew Matt Murdock’s attention away from the case file he was listening to. He tensed, pulling out his earbud and scanning the apartment before relaxing and dropping his head against the back of the couch. A woosh of cold air rushed over him as the rooftop door swung open. 

“Tell Stick I'm still not interested. He can fuck right off.” 

“Language, Matthew.” Elektra paused for a moment at the top of the stairs then started slinking downwards, one slow step at a time. “It's always so dark in here.”

“I'm doing my bit to reduce energy consumption. Why are here, Elektra?”

She was running her fingers down the smooth wood of the bannister, a bottle held in her other hand. She paused on the second to bottom step, lifting her head towards him. “I'm visiting. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“And I've already told you that Stick can fuck off,” Matt said, rising from the couch. “If you're planning on trying to recruit me again you can save your breath. Not happening.”

“Message received.” She was telling the truth - this wouldn't be a campaign. Elektra left the stairs and sashayed across the floor towards him, a light cloud of Chanel No. 5 preceding her. “But I've come all the way over here, and in this weather, too. I think I need warming up, don’t you?” She was inches away and Matt could feel her eyes rake him from head to toe. 

Matt didn't bother restraining himself from rolling his eyes. She was infuriating. “So, what is this? Just a booty call?” 

“Possibly. Consent and all that.” She turned smartly and walked into the kitchen. “Where do you keep your champagne flutes?”

“You know I don't own champagne flutes.”

“Shame. I thought you might have made the effort since I was last here. I suppose we'll have to make do.”

Matt made his way to the kitchen, shaking off his irritation. His glasses were on top of the bar and his hand twitched towards them but he left them there. Elektra’s visits were usually fun, ulterior motives aside, and he had a sudden sensory memory of sharp teeth, nipping against his neck. “So why are you really here?”

“I missed you,” she said, leaning back against the counter. “And I know you missed me.”

“No games, Elektra.”

There was a considering pause as she tilted her head to the side. “No games, Matthew. Well, only in the bedroom.” That, he could live with. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“He smiles,” she observed.

Matt could hear the foil seal tearing as she peeled it from the bottle. He stepped close and reached around her, producing two tall glasses. Her hair smelled of perfume and desire, and he felt a stirring low in his belly. He lingered a moment before pulling back. 

“What colour is your lipstick?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her and proffering the glasses.  

Elektra poured for each of them and placed the bottle on the counter, then took her glass and clinked it against his own. “Black, like my heart.” Her voice was a purr. 

He laughed, throwing back his head. “I never pictured you as a goth. I thought you were a lady of class.”

“I am. It's red. Dior Too Much.” She leaned in and breathed against his ear, “It's very sexy.”

“ _ Vraîment? _ ”

“ _ Oui, bien sûr. Bois _ .”

He raised his glass obediently, lifted it to his mouth and tilted his head back. The bubbles fizzed and exploded in his mouth, down his throat. It was very good champagne. 

“What are we celebrating?” Matt asked.

“Do we need an excuse? I haven't seen you in three months. I was overdue a visit, and I leave tomorrow for Athens.”

He hummed in reply, and smiled at her, tilting his chin down.

Elektra leaned in and pressed her lips to his, a quick touch, then leaned back, sipping her champagne. “So. Are you in the mood for sports tonight?”

Matt lifted a hand, cupping her cheek and teasing his fingertips into her silky hair. “Ms. Natchios, you're so forward.”

“All work and no play makes a woman very boring indeed.”

“Boring you are not,” he breathed, as he leaned in to press his mouth against hers. He flicked his tongue through her parted lips, running it lightly against her teeth. The champagne mixed with her own taste, and the sweetness of her lipstick. She pressed in a little more firmly, moving against him so the lipstick smeared across both their mouths. He moved back a little, wiped the tip of one finger at the edge of the smear on his face and rubbed finger to thumb. “Messy, maybe. And yes, I could do with exercise tonight. Tell me what you want.”

She threw back her head and drank deeply, emptying her glass. She placed it on the counter and took the bottle in one hand, his hand in her other, pressing closely against him, her voice breathy in his ear. “I want you underneath me, on your silk sheets. I want your hands on my skin. I want to make you scream.”

He huffed a laugh, emptied his own glass and let her lead him to the bedroom.

When he woke in the morning, she was gone. 

 

**_________**

 

Matt was limping. He’d taken a metal bar to the knee the night before and he didn’t think it was that obvious, but on the other hand he knew that Foggy routinely examined him for signs of injury. It came from a place of love, but it could be intrusive.

Matt pushed open the office door and smiled to the room at large. “Morning.” 

Karen didn’t bother looking up, mumbling, “Hi, Matt,” with her face still turned towards her desk. But Foggy glanced up from where he was leaning over Karen’s desk, and Matt could hear his heart rate pick up, and his suppressed sigh. Damn. Too stiff. He tried to move more smoothly, casually leaning his cane in the corner and making straight for the kitchenette. Karen and Foggy each already had a cup of coffee, so he made his own quickly and fled to his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. He had a mountain of paperwork to sift through.

Matt filled his morning with reading and phone calls, and by the time Foggy knocked on his door to ask Matt his opinion on the important subject of lunch, it appeared that Matt’s limp had been forgotten.

At closing time, Karen disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes, then emerged moving purposefully. Foggy gave a low whistle and called, “Matt! Karen's all fancy. She looks beautiful.” 

“Foggy!” Karen squealed. Matt could hear her swipe at him as she walked back to her desk, and Foggy’s squeak as he dodged her. 

Matt rose from his desk and opened his door to lean on his doorframe, and raising his brows at Foggy. “I thought she always looked beautiful. Is there something you're not telling me?”

“No, Matt,” Foggy said in a stage whisper. “I think Karen has a  _ date.  _ Is it a date, Kay?”

“Still not Kay. And it's none of your business.” She had her back to them, digging in her purse, her heart racing. 

Matt shrugged at Foggy. “I don't think she’s going to tell us.”

Karen pulled her keys free with a jangle and made for the door. “And there you would be right. Night, boys.” Then she was gone. Matt listened to her footsteps receding down the stairs, her fingers tapping out a message on her phone. 

“Don’t be a creeper, Matt.” Foggy said, wagging a finger in Matt’s direction and heading back to his own office. 

“Me? You’re the one who wanted to know who she was meeting.” Matt stood up straight and turned towards his desk, unrolling his shirt sleeves, buttoning his cuffs. In the other office, Foggy was packing his briefcase. Foggy had been right, Matt’s knee was bothering him and he wasn’t going to be heading out on patrol tonight. “You up for a night on the couch?” he called across the office.

“Sleep on your couch? No, it smells of blood. But a movie and takeout I can do,” Foggy said.

“Dick. Thai?”

“Thai?  _ Again?  _ C’mon, Murdock, live a little.”

“Fine, whatever. You choose. But I get veto right on the movies. Nothing from the DNR list,” Matt said as he shrugged into his suit jacket. “You’re on lights.”

“I’m always on lights, dufus. But get your own office.” There was a click as Foggy flicked off the lights in his office. Matt switched off his own lights  _ (‘You’ve just gotta remember to turn them on, so the clients can see your pretty face.’) _ grabbed his jacket and cane and met Foggy at the front door. 

“You really are limping. Why are you limping?”

“No comment, Counsellor.”

Foggy sighed deeply, but thankfully didn’t comment further. He may have made a quiet noise when Matt stumbled slightly on the stairs to his apartment, but as they leaned against each other on Matt’s couch, swigging beer, legs on the coffee table, Foggy kept up a lively commentary on the antics of  _ The Incredibles. _

Matt made a mental note to make sure he suggested movie nights more often.

The next morning found Matt sipping the dregs of his coffee in the middle of the foyer as Foggy read the front page newspaper article out loud, when Karen breezed in smelling different. Her usual citrus was overlaid with a muskier scent that spoke of power and control. There was something familiar in that scent which tickled the back of Matt’s mind. Suddenly it clicked into place, and Matt had to suppress a gasp. He felt his eyes narrow as he turned his head to track Karen’s progress across the room. She headed straight for the coffee machine, back rigid, and heard her whisper, “Keep your mouth shut, Matt,” while Foggy kept talking. Matt ducked his head, schooling his face into neutrality.

“‘... the District Attorney’s office has declined to comment at this time.’” Foggy made a noise of disgust and threw the paper down on a table. Matt leaned over and ran his fingers across the page, confirming what he already knew - there way no way he could read a newspaper by touch. “I hope you can’t feel his ugly mug,” Foggy said. Matt shook his head and turned away from the paper.

“Coffee?” Karen called, and Matt held out his empty coffee mug, turning to her with a smile.

“Yes, please,” Foggy and Matt responded in unison, prompting all three of them to laugh. 

 

**_________**

 

Matt was tired, sweaty and sore, and not in the mood to find Elektra sitting in one of his armchairs. He paused with his helmet in one hand and the other on the rooftop door, head bowed, taking a moment to breathe and compose himself before pushing the door open. 

“Elektra. You can’t just walk in to my home like this.” He stalked down the stairs, and straight past where she was seated, into his bedroom, deliberately closing the door behind him.

Her wiggling foot was her only outward indicator of irritation. “I’m going to be away for a while, Matthew,” she said, not bothering to raise her voice. Matt sighed and shucked the suit, kicking it into a pile in the corner of the room. Elektra was sitting quietly, sipping a drink - it smelled like Matt’s best scotch. Matt slipped into sweats, a hoodie and socks before opening the door again and walking to the kitchen.

“I thought you’d already left.” He reached down a glass from the shelf and filled it from the tap, using the excuse to linger in the kitchen. He pointedly didn’t offer her any water.

She tipped her head to the side. “I left, I came back, I’m leaving again. You know how it is.”

“The international jetset lifestyle? Not so much my scene,” Matt said, with a sideways tip of his head.

“Well, I can tell you that it beats smelly cabs.” She stood up in one fluid movement and made her way slowly to the kitchen, leaving her glass on the coffee table. As always and against his better judgement, he found himself intoxicated by the way she moved. While she was as graceful as ever, there was something different tonight, as though she was somehow uncomfortable.

“Are you okay? You seem… off.” 

“Don’t fuss, Matthew. I’ve just had a bug.” She turned and started walking aimlessly back towards the lounge.

“Please don’t touch more of my apartment than you have to.”

“Relax. I’m not contagious.”

Matt signed. “Look, Elektra, nice as it is to see you, I’m not going to be very good company tonight.”

She gave a miniscule shrug and stopped walking, crossing her arms. “Suit yourself.”

“Next time, how about the courtesy of a text, followed by a knock on the door. Rather than breaking and entering.” Matt put his glass on the bench and walked towards her.

“You were out,” she said, palms raised in a shrug of innocence. “And it's not like you’ve never broken in anywhere.” She adjusted her stance, standing a little more squarely.

“Not into your apartment.” He placed his hands on her upper arms and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. “Good night, Elektra. Safe travels.”

She said nothing, crossing her arms more tightly. He tilted his head down, confused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Elektra sighed explosively and uncrossed her arms, shaking them out. “I’m fine, Matthew. I’ll see myself out.” And she stomped away up the stairs, leaving Matt wondering what, exactly, had just happened. He listened to her spring away into the night, then claimed her undrunk scotch for himself.

 

**_________**

 

Matt and Maggie always found it easiest to talk while they did something, their relationship too new and fragile to exist without a support. Sitting and talking was too confronting, and they were both people who needed to keep their hands occupied. A nun was only still when sleeping or worshipping, so there was always a task to which Matt could lend a hand. Today, she was in the laundry room. 

"Father Lantom said I’d find you here,” Matt said, leaning his cane against the wall by the stairs.

Maggie only showed the briefest sign of surprise at his appearance, before thrusting a hamper in his direction with a terse, “Towels.”

They worked quietly, Matt folding and stacking the towels while Maggie took away them away to shelve, and brought back more. The pile seemed neverending, but then again the orphanage was full to bursting.

Maggie's movements today were just a touch slower than her usual brisk efficiency, and she rubbed a hand down her face more than once, eventually prompting Matt to ask, “Tired?”

“My work is never done,” she replied. Being adept at this particular skill, Matt recognised her response for the non-answer it was. He said nothing, adding another three towels to the pile while he waited for her to speak again. Eventually, she did. “We have a newborn baby. He's eight days old.”

Matt was startled. “I. I thought you didn't take them that young?”

“We don't. Usually. But sometimes the Lord brings challenges that we don't expect. He's a beautiful boy. He's just a lot of work and I'd forgotten how often newborn babies wake at night.” Maggie took a sharp breath, then picked up an empty hamper and scurried off towards the dryers. 

Matt felt like he'd been sucker punched. All babies? Or just himself? He worked on breathing evenly, adding a towel to his growing tower and running his palm across the rough fabric, feeling the fraying corner. He knew very little about his own babyhood. Jack had been a man of action, focused on the present, and most of his stories had been about an active boyhood. Matt had a faded, barely there, memory of a photo of himself as a chubby baby hanging on the wall of their apartment. He had no idea what had happened to it. 

Maggie returned with a hamper of more warm towels, which she tipped onto the bench. Silently, she started stacking Matt's tower of towels in the hamper.

“How did he end up here?”

She didn’t answer immediately, retrieving another hamper for yet more towels. “The baby’s mother… is only a child herself. She isn’t equipped to care for him.”

“So he’s here? Not in foster care?”

“I would think he’ll be adopted in time, but for now it has fallen to me to care for him,” she said.

“Why you?”

Maggie’s heart had sped up, was almost jackrabbit fast, but when she spoke it was with purposeful calmness. “I volunteered.”

Matt didn’t know how to take that. “Have you done that before?”

“No,” she replied, then sighed deeply, breathing out slowly. “I. I haven’t looked after a baby since… Well. Since you were born.”

“You think, what, looking after this baby makes up for leaving your own?”

Maggie’s hands stopped moving and she looked up at him, head tilted. She wasn't wearing her veil, and her hair made a cloud around her head. Matt had the fleeting thought that he'd never wondered before if they looked anything alike. She shook her head, firm and quick. “It's not always about you, Matthew. I failed you, yes, and I abandoned you. But nothing I do now changes that fact.”

Matt nodded, unable to trust his voice, seeking out a towel, which was crackly from the drier.

“I will forever be sorry,” Maggie said. “But I wouldn’t change what happened. I would have been a terrible mother.” 

“And here you are, surrounded by the laundry of 27 children.” 

“Ha.” She shook herself like a dog, hands resuming their work. “Jack sent me photos of you, you know. I was desperate for them, although they hurt to look at.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low. “I was a coward.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

She nodded, curt.

Matt turned around, leaning against the counter, his face angled to face her. “You know, you’ve never explained to me why you didn’t tell me who you were.” He gestured with a hand, palm up. “I may be wrong, but I would have assumed that by the time I was ten you didn’t still have postnatal depression.” His aim at flippancy fell short of the mark, the stirring of something darker edging his voice.

She stilled, hands spread on the counter. Above them, there was a burst of laughter from a group of children. He didn’t think she could hear it. “I don’t think I know myself,” she said.

“Do you have any idea how much it would have meant to me?” He could feel anger curling its fingers around his ribs, hooking in, crushing them together. There was a child, far off in the orphanage, calling for Sister Maggie - a child who expected that she would come. 

“I’m sorry, Matthew.” And then, faintly, Matt heard the tiny wail of a newborn baby.

“I don’t want your apology,” he said, the words clipped. His breath was coming faster now, the fingers squeezing his heart, making it pump harder. He could feel a flush rising in his face. “I want to know that you knew how much I was hurting. How  _ alone _ I was.”

Her face was tilted downwards, away from him, as salt laid tracks across her cheeks. “I knew.”

“And you could have comforted me. While I grieved for my father.” She nodded, mute. “But you chose not to.” She nodded again. “The baby’s crying. He needs you.” Matt turned and walked away from her.


	2. The Fear of Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt receives a bombshell, and doesn't cope particularly well. Another secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork coming soon!

Matt dropped into the alley with a careless thump. “Evening, jackass.” He dealt to the thief with a smack to the solar plexus, then two quick jabs to the head for good measure. 

He leaned down to pick up the dropped purse, and threw it towards the mouth of the alley. He should probably carry it over to return it to its owner, but tonight he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He flexed his aching knuckles. All the punches in the world weren’t doing anything to ease the rising tide of terror that he was feeling. Three hours dealing with petty criminals was enough for tonight. He had half a bottle of scotch at home with his name on it.

When he arrived back at his apartment he threw his helmet on the couch and made straight for his liquor shelf. He poured himself three fingers and knocked it back, then poured another glass to take to the shower, just to take the edge off.

Clean once more, Matt collapsed on the couch, hugging the bottle to his chest. Possibilities and unanswered questions swirled in his head as he sat and took periodic swigs. The next morning and Foggy both seemed very far off, although he could change one part of that. Matt placed the nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table and stood up, the room swaying alarmingly around him. He pulled on a large hoodie, found some shoes and his cane, and again went out into the night.

“Is he always that grumpy?” Matt’s legs weren’t cooperating very well and he was leaning heavily against Foggy, lurching down the hallway.  

“No. But then he's not usually woken by a blind drunk blind man hammering on his door.”

“Why was he in your apartment?”

“He was in his apartment, buddy. You had the wrong door.” Foggy lifted Matt’s arm off his shoulders and Matt slid into a heap on the couch. 

“Why are you awake?” Matt asked, confused.

“I'm not sure if it was the whole distillery aura you've got going on, or the sheer noise you were making. But you’re the reason. Why are you so drunk?”

“Her. She. What the fuck.” Matt fell sideways across the couch. 

“Okay, you're going to have to give me more than that. Maybe in the morning.” Foggy sat down on the coffee table opposite Matt and started pulling off Matt’s shoes. 

“Foggy. Foggy. What am I going to do, Foggy?” Matt rubbed his face against the couch cushions. “Smells like you.”

“You’re welcome? You're going to go to sleep, Matty, and so am I. I’ll get you a blanket.”

Matt reached out to grab Foggy’s arm before he disappeared into the disorienting swirl of his apartment. “No, no. Fog. You gotta read this. Fuck.” He let go and pawed at his own pocket, pulling his phone free. Matt swiped clumsy fingers at the screen, trying to unlock it.

“Here, let me help.” Gently, Foggy took the phone from him and pressed Matt’s thumb to the button, unlocking it. “What do you want me to read?”

“Text. Elektra.” Matt rubbed his face against the cushion again, trying to hide.

The phone read out the the commands as Foggy navigated his way to the text conversation that Matt had had with Elektra, then started reading the conversation displayed on the screen. Matt groaned as he heard the words again.

**_6:03pm Elektra Natchios: Matthew_ **

**_6:08pm MM: What?_ **

**_6:09pm Elektra Natchios: I have news._ **

**_6:15pm MM: I’m not playing guessing games._ **

**_6:16pm Elektra Natchios: I am pregnant._ **

**_6:32pm MM: This is unexpected, but please accept my congratulations to you and the father._ **

**_6:35pm Elektra Natchios: Matthew, you are the father._ **

**_6:36pm MM: That’s not funny._ **

**_6:38pm Elektra Natchios: It’s not meant to be. I will be back in New York next week, and would like to talk then._ **

**_7:21pm Elektra Natchios: Matthew?_ **

**_7:40pm MM: OK_ **

There was a very long silence, as the phone stopped speaking. Foggy was sitting very still, staring at the phone in his hand. Eventually, he swallowed hard.

“That’s it? You didn’t talk to her?”

Matt shook his head. “I found someone to punch.” 

Foggy reached out and took Matt’s hand, running his thumb gently over the knuckles. “So I see. What, uh, what are you going to do?”

“Me?” Matt made an abortive effort to push himself upright. He was so very drunk. “I don’t know.” He collapsed back again, face in the cushions. “I guess it’s up to her,” he mumbled.

Foggy nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” He released Matt’s hand and stood, and Matt felt his hand involuntarily stretch out, reaching again for Foggy's warmth. 

Foggy was back a moment later. “C’mon, buddy. Shuffle down, you’re all squashed up at one end. I’ve got a blanket, and I’ll put a bottle of water here on the coffee table. You need to sleep.”

Matt obeyed the instructions, stretching out as much as the couch allowed. As Foggy spread the blanket over his shoulders, Matt reached up and grasped his hand, squeezing it. “Thanks, Fog. You’re always here for me.”

“Don’t you know it.” Foggy planted a quick kiss on Matt’s brow, and laughed as Mat swatted him away. Then he was gone, and Matt sank into sleep.

 

**_________**

 

Matt had just finished an afternoon deposition at the courthouse, Foggy and Karen tied up elsewhere. He unmuted his phone to find a message waiting for him. 

**_Elektra Natchios: I'll be outside when you finish._ **

Matt cursed under his breath and sent a text off to Foggy, saying he’d have to postpone their evening drinks. He found himself running his hand down his jacket front again, checking for creases. He squared his shoulders and readied himself to go and face her. 

She was at the bottom of the steps, standing by a sleek car with a quietly purring engine. “Have you eaten?” she asked by way of greeting. He shook his head, leaning in stiffly to kiss her on the cheek. “Good. Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”

“Reservation?”

“We're going to dinner.”

“Please, no games, Elektra.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” She tugged on his lapels and flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. “Sharp suit. Your little firm doing well?”

Elektra turned without waiting for his answer and slid into the waiting car, silk slipping quietly over leather. He folded up his cane and climbed in after her. “We've had our successes.”

“I'm pleased for you.” She looked away, out the window. Matt listened to the low rumble of the engine, sounds of the city blurred by their movement through the streets. Elektra liked her games and there was no point in squeezing it out of her, he might as well wait until she was ready to talk. 

The restaurant was expensive and exclusive. The maître d’ knew Elektra by name, and ushered them efficiently to a quiet corner, footsteps hushed on the deep carpet. Matt was handed a menu, and was mildly gratified to discover that it was printed in braille. The prices, however, were astronomical.

“Red or white?” Elektra enquired vaguely.

“Elektra… We need to talk.”

“Of course, once we’ve ordered wine. We’re not animals, Matthew.”

Matt waved a hand at her. “You choose something.” 

“One glass each,” she purred.

 

**_________**

 

“And then?” Foggy asked, leaning forward and gesturing for Matt to continue talking.

Matt shrugged, swirling the whisky in his glass. “We had wine, food. She talked.”

“I assumed that much. What did she say?”

Matt took a sip, breathing across the tart, caramel taste before swallowing. “She’s keeping the baby. She wants a co-parenting arrangement, here in New York, provided I want the same. If I don’t, she’ll disappear and I’ll never have to see her again.”

Foggy sat back. “Is that what you want?”

“No! I don’t know. No. I just… I have no idea what I think.” Matt pulled off his glasses, tossing them onto the table in front of him, and massaged the bridge of his nose.

Foggy was quiet, waiting for Matt to speak again. Matt drained his glass and Foggy unscrewed the whisky bottle, the sound of metal on glass setting Matt’s teeth on edge. He held out his glass for a refill. He sighed, opened his mouth and closed it again, then said, “Fog, can you think of anyone less qualified to have a kid than I am?”

Foggy recapped the bottle and placed it back on the table with a thunk. “C’mon, Matty. Granted, you’re not the most emotionally available guy I’ve ever met. And you have a pretty dangerous hobby. And families kind of freak you out.” Matt rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Foggy cut in. “I’m not finished! But you’re also very protective, and you love people in your own repressed, child-who-was-abandoned kind of way.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, Fog, you’re really selling it to me.”

“Look, Matt, I can’t tell you what to do here. But I do know who you are, and that you’ll give that kid everything you can. You’ll be a great dad. Think of what your dad did for you.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah. He was great. Until he wasn’t there any more,” he said. He tilted his glass from side to side, listening to the swish of the liquid.

“Have you… Have you told—”

“No,” Matt cut him off. He didn’t want to discuss Maggie, and Foggy clearly got the message.

Foggy swallowed, and cleared his throat. “So, does this mean I can redecorate your apartment? You don’t want this kid to think it’s a cave troll.”

“Seriously? I’m having a crisis here, and you’re thinking about decor.”

“You do live in a dark dungeon. Look at this place.”

“Can’t,” Matt said, shrugging. He took another sip. “You crashing here tonight?”

“No, siree. I don’t want to wake in the middle of the night to find a troll looming over me,” Foggy said as he pushed up off the couch.

“Suit yourself. See you in the morning, Fog.”

Foggy patted Matt on the head. “Be a good boy and stay home tonight.”

Matt waved his whisky glass in Foggy’s general direction. “Will do. Get home safe.”

 

**_________**

 

Matt knocked on the doorframe. “You hungry, Karen?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, with a contemplative air. “Are you asking me because you'd like to treat me to lunch, or do you need to tell me whatever your secret is?” she asked.

“Um.” Matt shuffled, discomfited by her typically astute observation. “Do I have to choose one?”

That made her laugh. “I guess not. Where are you taking me?” 

“Nothing fancy. The diner on the corner, if that's okay.”

“Of course it is,” she said, standing and gathering her coat. “Are we waiting for Foggy?”

“No, he won't be back in today,” Matt said. He collected his own coat and his cane and held the door open, locking it behind her. “After you,” he said, with a flourish of his cane.

Out on the street Matt took her elbow and they fell into step. It had been a while since she'd guided him, he realised. Conversation between them was easy as they walked down the street, Karen describing to him some flowers in a window box above the diner, which she said added a startling splash of colour. She found them a booth and they settled in easily opposite each other and matt realised that Foggy was right - she was happier and more peaceful than she'd been in a long time.

She waited until their food had arrived before asking, “Are you going to spit it out, Matt?”

He swallowed his mouthful, feeling himself flush. “Yeah, yeah. Um.” He swallowed again, nervously. “You, ah, you remember Elektra?”

“Stabby, murdery, hot woman? She's hard to forget.” Karen jabbed at her food with more force than was strictly necessary.

“That's her. Well. I'm not sure how it happened, but she's pregnant.”

Karen paused, head tipped to the side. “You want me to explain reproductive biology to you?” 

“Karen.”

“Okay, okay.” She shrugged. “I just… wouldn't have picked her as the maternal type.”

“She's not, but it's happened and she's keeping it.” He cleared his throat, swallowed. “ _ We're _ keeping it.”

Karen placed her fork delicately on her plate and folded her hands on the tabletop. Matt could feel her eyes on him, and he squirmed uncomfortably and reached for his coffee. Eventually she sighed. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I’m sure.”

She picked up her fork and went back to poking at her food. “Sorry. I just.” She shook her head. 

“I know.”

“Well that explains why you've been so ditzy lately,” she said, pointing her fork at him. 

“I am not ditzy.”

“You have been, recently.”

Matt rolled his eyes and placed his empty coffee cup near the edge of the table. “Can you please signal to the waitress for more coffee? You can tell Marci. It's not a secret.”

“Well, she is! Or was. I  _ knew _ you knew.” Karen brought her fist down lightly on the tabletop, accenting the  _ knew _ . “You haven't told Foggy I'm dating Marci, have you?” She sounded concerned.

“Of course not. It's not my business.”

“Thank you.”

The waitress bustled over and Matt gratefully received the refill. Once she’d left, Matt asked, “Are you worried he’ll be upset about Marci? Foggy, I mean.”

“What? No. It was just a crush, and he got over it quickly. No, he’s in love with someone else.”

Matt was startled. “He is? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

Karen gave a rather undignified snort of laughter and reached across the table to pat his arm. “You’re wonderfully wrapped up in yourself at times, Matt. No need to scowl like that. Now, what colour are you painting the nursery?”

Matt gave a low moan of defeat. “What are you going to say when I tell you that I don’t care?  Foggy thinks the baby’s going to be an orc, or something. My apartment’s not that dark, is it?”

“You know who’s amazing at interior design?” Karen asked, completely ignoring his question and turning back to her food.

“No. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Matt said.

“Marci! She’s amazing. She’s got such an eye. Her apartment is gorgeous.”

“Marci.” Matt’s impressions of Marci were a desire to win at all costs, and an aura of confidence.

“Don’t pout at me, Matt. She really is a very caring person, and she’s got a great sense of style.”

“And you’re not biased?” said Matt, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Of course I am! She’s amazing and I’ll be getting my U-Haul trailer any day now.”

“Really?” said Matt, startled. “You’re playing out that stereotype?”

“No. We both like some independence and I’ve got issues, which you know. But we’re having fun,” Karen said, shrugging one-shouldered. “Anyway, the point is that she really would be helpful.”

“I will admit to maybe needing a little help here. On one condition,” Matt said, raising a finger in the air.

“I’ll have to consult my lawyers before committing to anything.”

Matt pointed the finger at her. “You give me a detailed description of what happens to Foggy’s face when you tell him you’re romancing Marci Stahl.”

Matt loved hearing the brightness of her laugh. “That I can do,” she said, humour sparkling through her voice.

They ate in companionable silence for a couple of minutes until, true to form, Karen shattered the peace.

“You… you never say anything about your family. Your parents.”

“You never say much about yours, either.”

“No, but. I’ve never heard you speak about them.”

Matt sighed. “Maybe that’s because I don’t want to, Karen,” he said, striving to remain calm.

“No, I get that. It’s just… Doesn’t the thought of becoming a dad make you think about them?”

Matt pushed his plate away, and folded his hands on the tabletop, his appetite gone. “I mean. Yes, to some extent. But. It.” He swallowed, mouth dry. “My mother left before I could remember her. I, we, found each other recently, but it’s complicated.” He shook his head. “My dad raised me, until I was ten. Then he was gone.”

“What was he like?” she asked, lowly.

“He was a boxer, a simple man… We were happy. I was, anyway. Until he died.” He shrugged, tipping his head to the side.

“How did he die, Matt?”

“He made a choice, and he knew it would kill him. That it would mean I’d be left alone.”

“Matt, I’m sure he didn’t—”

“Karen. Don’t.” Matt sighed. “Look, he was a good dad. He loved me and I loved him. But I grew up alone, because of a decision he made. I don’t know what he was thinking or why he did it, and I can’t ask him, because he’s dead. I just know what the consequences were, for me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Matt nodded as finished the dregs of his coffee. “But I gotta know - is he where you got your love of punching?”

Matt snorted. “Maybe. Or I’m just a contrary son of a bitch.”

 

**_________**

 

“You know, Matt, I think Karen has a boyfriend.” Foggy called from the hallway. He was palming his softball, rolling it between his hands.

Matt shook his head, face tilted towards the paper he was reading, fingers skimming back and forth. “She doesn’t.”

“You sure about that, Bat-Boy? She’s been happier, smiling more. I think she might even be in love.” Foggy wandered back to Karen's desk and shuffled a few papers on it.

Matt shrugged but said nothing. “How about you?” Foggy asked, coming back into Matt’s office. Matt sat back with a laugh. 

“Are you serious, man? I think preparing for this baby is enough for me right now.” 

“I was asking how things are with Elektra, but sure, look around.” Foggy tossed a sealed envelope onto Matt's desk. “From the New York Bar Association.”

“We're not together.” Matt picked up the envelope and tore it open, smoothing flat the paper inside. 

“Really?”

“Really. I can't read this.” He held the paper out to Foggy, who took it.

Foggy glanced at the paper. “One day they'll master braille. It's just your registration. It’s not due for a while.” He lowered his hand, sounding curious. “So, no Catholic wedding? Or is she Greek Orthodox?”

“We’re definitely not getting married.”

“You made a baby together. Doesn’t that mean you like each other?”

“It means we had sex, not that I want to share my life with her. Getting married because of a kid, or expecting a baby to suddenly make us get along is... shortsighted.”

“Jesus, Murdock. You sound like you might actually be growing up.”

Matt scrunched up the envelope and lobbed it - harder than strictly necessary - at Foggy's head. It hit his forehead and bounced satisfyingly high. “Ow! You jerk! I take it back. You're an immature brat.”

“Don't you forget it,” Matt grinned. 

“Just for that, Murdock, I’m making you fill out your own paperwork,” Foggy said, slapping the letter back down on Matt’s desk.

Father Lantom was in a room somewhere behind the church, muttering to himself and scratching away with a pen. Matt wasn’t in a hurry, so he sat down, leaning back and listening to the whispers of air heated by candles, rising into the rafters of the church. 

He was feeling unbalanced, unsure. And, most of all, scared.

Eventually, Matt heard Lantom give a grunt of satisfaction and rise from his seat, the wood creaking as it relaxed upwards. There was a swish of fabric - Lantom must be wearing a cassock today. Matt waited as Lantom’s footsteps entered the church through a side door, pausing briefly and altering slightly in course as the priest spotted him in the pews. Lantom drew close, stopping at the aisle.

“Morning, Father,” said Matt, nodding in greeting.

“Hello, Matthew.” Lantom looking at his watch, then slipped into the pew in front of Matt. “How are you today?”

“You don’t need to be somewhere else?”

“Not for a while, no. Have you been sleeping?”

“Everyone sleeps.”

“Although quantity and quality can vary, Matthew. You look like a man who’s not getting much of either. What’s on your mind?”

“Ah.” Matt rubbed his thumb over a tender bruise on his thigh. The harder he pressed the sharper the pain became, grounding him. “What are your thoughts on parenthood? Is it a thing people are just born to do, or they aren’t?”

Lantom was quiet, seeming to study Matt. “Obviously, I don’t have first hand experience. But I do feel we - children and observers alike - expect a lot of parents. And they are only human.”

“That’s, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the suitability of some people to be a parent at all. Are some people just not up to scratch?”

“You live in the world. You know that there are people who have failed. But Matthew, you must understand that Maggie tried her—”

“I’m not talking about her,” Matt cut in, too quickly. “I. I’m sorry, Father.” He took a deep breath. “This is about me. What if I can’t be the parent my child deserves?”

“Is having a child something you’re considering? I was under the impression that your day job and nightly activities were somewhat… All consuming.”

“It was unexpected, but it’s not a theoretical. And it’s something I want to do. If I can. I’m not sure that I  _ should _ , or if I’m capable.”

Lantom turned his head to look up to the ceiling of the church and breathed out through his nose.

“What do you consider to be your good qualities, Matthew?”

Matt shook his head, cheeks warming. “It’s not something I give much thought.”

Lantom turned to look at him again. “No, I understand that. But I want you to give me an answer.”

Matt pressed his thumb into the bruise, the mild pain blooming anew. “I’m a good lawyer.”

“That’s a vocation. Try again.”

“I. I don’t give up.”

“Determination, tenacity,” Lantom said, nodding.

“Also known as stubbornness. I think we both know where I get that.”

“Indeed! And look how productive it is. I was thinking of something deeper, more powerful.”

Matt held a hand up in defeat. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re driving at.”

“Matthew, one of your overriding qualities is that you care, that you love, very deeply. Sometimes you may not channel that in the most constructive ways, I’ll grant you that. But it is true that love,  _ love _ , is the first thing children need.”

“They also need parents who are there.”

“And I’m sure you appreciate that better than most. But there’s nothing stopping you from being in this child’s life, other than your fear, is there?”

Matt shrugged to concede the point. “In a practical sense, no.”

“Then stop inventing obstacles. Fear can create monsters in the shadows, when truly nothing is there.” Lantom gestured in invitation. “Give me another strength.”

“I’m good at beating up baddies.”

“Hah! You’re protective. And smart-mouthed.”

“A product of my environment.”

“Possibly.” Lantom was quiet for a long moment. “Matthew, maybe you could take the time to consider forgiveness, for yourself and yes, for others in your life.” 

Matt grimaced. “What if I can’t?”

“The only thing that will stop you, is you. And I’d like to think you’re a more intelligent man than that. Look, you know that God gives us challenges to test us and help us grow, and sometimes He sends us gifts. This child is a gift! Let yourself treasure it. You could be an excellent father, if only you permit yourself. And you have people who will gladly help you, because you are not alone in this life.”

Matt nodded. “Thank you, Father. I’ll think about it,” he said, standing from the pew and brushing himself off.

“I’m sure you will, Matthew. But, try not to overthink.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy is the best.
> 
> Thanks again to sleepyMoritz for beta work. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	3. This Is The Beat Of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Countdown time. Foggy gets a surprise. Then, it's the big day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: This chapter includes descriptions of non-medicalised birth, with post birth complications and associated medical treatment. I’ve tried to avoid graphic descriptions, but it’s still birth. If you feel uncomfortable with this, skip to the end, where there’s a brief summary of events. The birth scene starts with “Matthew.”
> 
> Thanks again to sleepyMoritz for beta work

“And when we get to discovery -” Matt broke off and tilted his head to listen to the clack of high heels on the stairs. “We’ve got a visitor,” he said, and rose from his seat, moving into the foyer.

“A paying customer, I hope! Do they smell like money, Matty?” Foggy asked, following close behind.

Matt gave a half-shrug. “That’s one way of putting it.” He turned his head to face Karen and raised his eyebrows, hoping she would get the hint. He heard her soft  _ oh _ of understanding as she put the pieces together.

The door opened, and it was Foggy’s turn to gasp. “ _ Marci?  _ What are you doing here.”

“Hello, Foggy Bear, Murdock.” Marci swept past the two men and took Karen’s face in her hands, kissing her deeply. “And hello, my darling.”

Foggy’s breath and heart stuttered, and Matt felt him blush. Matt turned his face, hiding his smile behind his hand. Marci let go of Karen and turned back to face them, arms akimbo. “Murdock. I’m here for your keys.”

“Pardon me?”

“The keys to your apartment. I’m reliably informed that it’s in desperate need of a facelift. I’m going around to have a look now, then we’re getting paint and wallpaper tomorrow. Working bee for all those with vision, creative or otherwise, this weekend and next.” Marci was clearly still ruthlessly efficient.

Matt slowly reached into his pocket and extracted his keyring, removing the single door key and holding it out. 

“Anything I need to know?” Marci asked as she plucked the key from his palm.

“Um?” Matt asked, eloquently.

“Colours you don’t like…?”

Matt thought for a moment. “No orange. Light and neutral colours. Non-VOC paints only. And there’s no nursery - the baby will sleep in my room. Karen gets veto rights,” he said with a brief  nod in her direction.

“Okay, then. Foggy, I’ll see you at Murdock’s at nine on Saturday morning.” Marci turned back to Karen. “Coming, my love?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Karen said. As she walked past Matt she leaned in and whispered, “Full Foggy-face description tomorrow,” laugher bubbling in her voice.

The two women swept out, leaving a startling stillness in their wake. Slowly, Foggy pivoted in a half circle from front door to Karen’s desk, then back again.

“What… just happened?” he asked, weakly.

“Don’t look at me,” Matt replied. “But I think I’m moving in with you for a while.”

 

**_________**

 

Foggy’s couch was too short to stretch out on full-length. Matt wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with it, but he definitely wasn’t moving back into his apartment yet. The smell of fresh paint on Foggy’s clothes when he’d returned from Matt’s apartment the night before had nearly made Matt gag. Why the arbitrary notions of sighted people about the aesthetic qualities of their surroundings had to impact on his own living space, he wasn’t entirely sure. He rolled over, plumping the pillow beneath his head and huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

There was a groan from the other room. “Matt, Matty, Matthew,” Foggy said. “This is ridiculous. Get your ass in here.”

“No, Foggy, it’s fine.”

“It’s  _ clearly  _ not fine. You’re not getting any sleep, and neither am I, with you wriggling like a… I don’t know. A noisy wriggling thing. I need you functional in the office tomorrow, and  _ I  _ need to be able to think. C’mon. I won’t bite.”

Matt knew perfectly well that Foggy wouldn’t bite, that Foggy would be warm and soft, and it was hardly as though they’d never shared a bed before. But it still felt wrong to insert himself like that. He bit his lip.

“I can hear you thinking from here. You don’t want to be more of an imposition - which you aren’t, by the way.” Foggy’s tone changed to pleading. “Please, Matty.” And boom, there went the last of Matt’s defences. Heaving a great, long-suffering sigh, he climbed off the couch, grabbed his pillow and walked the short distance to Foggy’s room. He was met with a crow of victory. Foggy flipped back the covers on one side and Matt climbed in and rolled on his side, tugging the covers up to his ear. 

“Thanks, Fog,” he said, after a moment.

“Go to sleep, dufus.”

 

**_________**

 

Matt still wasn’t quite ready to see Maggie again. She was worse than Father Lantom for saying things that got under his skin. While he didn’t truthfully expect anything from her, there was still a small boy inside him, angry at being abandoned. 

Matt didn’t know whether Maggie was still caring for the newborn at St Agnes, or what her feelings were towards babies in general but he doubted that the arrival of a grandchild would stoke any latent maternal feelings. Maggie just wasn’t particularly warm, and while she could be obnoxiously persistent in person, she'd left him alone since their fight. He certainly didn’t feel that she had any entitlement to a relationship with either himself or the baby, once it arrived. 

Eventually, Matt sent her a text message, informing her of the baby’s impending arrival. Her response, when it came, was characteristically brief. Matt’s most charitable thought was that she didn’t want him to feel pressured, but it was possible that she didn’t have anything to say. Either way, he found it irritating.

The whole concept of  _ family _ was causing Matt anxiety. 

Matt’s relationship with Elektra had, in recent years, been one of convenience - a friends-with-benefits situation - and now they were becoming bound together in a way which Matt had only experienced in a very limited form. The idea of family was a relic, resigned to his childhood, and he’d spent the rest of his life making his way alone in the world. While he was coming to understand that his life was richer making connections with Foggy and Karen, he still struggled with the idea that he could depend on other people, that they might want to stay around. 

Even his own father, who he knew had loved him, had chosen to go out in a blaze of glory. As for his other parent… It was hard to think of Maggie as a mother when she patently hadn’t mothered him. She’d chosen a life of piety over a life with her son, even when he’d desperately needed someone. 

If Matt’s parents hadn’t even managed a decade between them, how could Matt hope to do any better?

 

**_________**

 

When Matt finally moved back into his apartment, after a month of comfortable co-habitation and bed sharing with Foggy, the smell was reduced to tolerable levels. He walked around, running his fingers over the smoother paint-coated brickwork as Foggy described the colour (apparently it was off-white, but honestly Matt didn’t care about the multitude of shades of white available. Surely white was white?) and the textured wallpaper that was supposed to ‘add interest’.

“It’s lighter?” Matt asked, angling his face back towards Foggy.

“Much! I mean, there’s a pretty psychedelic effect from the billboard at this time of night, but it’s great during the day.” Matt nodded, absently, enjoying the pleased tone in Foggy’s voice.

“You’re being honest with me, right? You haven’t done the dirty on me and gone with something garish?”

“Cross my heart, buddy. Oh, come and check out the curtains in your room!”

“I thought the window panes were frosted?” Matt said, following Foggy through into the bedroom.

“They  _ are,  _ but they still let in a lot of light. Marci let me choose the curtains. Feel how soft they are.” The curtains were long, whispering just above the floorboards, and over each of the windows. There was a new, soft rug in the middle of the floor, but Matt chose not to mention it.

He smiled, stroking the thick fabric. “They feel great, Fog. But I don’t need them.”

“No, I know you don’t. But the baby will, when you get to the sleepover stage. They’re blackout curtains!”

Matt paused. “Oh. I… hadn’t thought about that. Makes sense, though. Same colour in here?”  

“Nah, it’s mostly greyer. Plus this yellow wall,” Foggy said, tapping the wall beside him. 

“Yellow? Fogs, you promised!”

“I promised no orange. But this is a really nice lemony-yellow. It goes well with your sheets.”

“My sheets are grey.”

“Yeah, and they go with yellow.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Matt said with a shrug, turning away from the curtains and heading back to the kitchen.

Foggy trailed after him. “So when are we setting up the crib?”

“We’re not. Elektra’s planning to breastfeed, so the baby will be with her most of the time. When it does come here I’ll just bedshare.” Matt pulled two beers out of the fridge, holding one out to Foggy.

“Is that even safe?”

“Of course it is, Fog. People have been doing it forever. It’s not like you’d leave your baby on the other side of the cave to be eaten by a sabre-tooth tiger.” 

“I… hadn't honestly thought about it that way.”

“I always slept with my dad. It saves on heat in winter.” Matt wandered back over to sit on the couch, Foggy taking his usual spot on the other end. 

“What about a stroller?”

“In a 6th floor walk-up? Are you insane?”

Foggy conceded the point with a hum. “So how are you feeling about the whole becoming a dad thing?”

Matt rested his head on the back of the couch. “I still don't know,” he said. 

“You'd better get onto that,” Foggy said.

“No, I mean I know it's coming soon and I'm going to be there, I’m doing this. It's more that I don't know if I can be what this baby needs.”

“You can be the man this city needs but not the dad this baby needs? Like my rhymes?”

“Very witty. Father Lantom was asking me about this today, and I’m about at my limit.”

“Your priest? Is that how confession usually goes?”

“I’ve been talking him. Talking through some of my… stuff. To, uh, sort out my head a bit. For the baby.”

“Matty!” Foggy slid across the couch, throwing an arm over Matt’s shoulder and squeezing him in a side-hug. “I’m so proud of you, buddy, being an adult and looking after your mental health!”

Matt made a frustrated noise. “Can we talk about something else? I'm tired of this conversation.”

“Okay, man. I’ll give the emotion talk a rest for a while,” Foggy said, laughing and relaxing his hold but leaving his arm in place. 

“ _ Thank you, _ ” Matt said, with feeling.

 

**_________**

 

“Matthew.”

Matt rolled over and groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. He’d had a late night, and it felt as though he’d barely fallen asleep before his phone had jolted him awake. “What is it, Elektra?” She didn’t reply straight away, her breathing started to deepen, becoming more deliberate, and it sounded as though she’d dropped the phone from her face. Matt sat up in alarm. “Elektra?” 

He listened to her breathe for a bit longer, then there was a muffled scuffling noise as she picked the phone up again. “It’s time, Matthew.”

“Time? What? Now? Isn’t it too early?” He threw the covers back and swung his feet onto the floor. And immediately tripped over the discarded suit. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Are you at the birthing centre already?”

“I’m only a couple of weeks early. Don’t panic, Matthew, it’s going to be hours yet.”

It was hours. Six or so hours, which felt like an eternity but apparently was actually very rapid for a first birth. Having panicked to dress and race out the door, Matt spent the first while unsure how to be helpful. Elektra seesawed between snapping at him to leave her alone, requesting back massages and warm towels, and zoning out completely when the surges of contraction grew stronger and started to overtake her. It was unlike anything Matt had ever experienced before. It was primal, all-encompassing. Elektra spent some time under a warm shower, slinging her arms around his neck for support, rocking her hips from side to side. Matt could feel the warmth radiating from her, sense her whole belly tightening and pressing downwards as the cervix opened. There was so much softening and opening. As he circled the palm of his hand against her lower back he could feel the bones shifting and moving apart, under the power of her contractions.

There were midwives slipping in and out of the room at intervals, speaking in low, inconspicuous voice, gentle, kind and efficient. Matt ignored them as much as he was able, instead concentrating on Elektra. Whatever their differences, he could do this for her.

And he listened to their child, shifting and moving inside her, heart rate fluctuating with each contraction but returning in between to a quick, steady tattoo.

As the frequency and intensity of the contractions increased she climbed into the pool in the centre of the room and knelt, leaning her arms on the edge. Matt stayed close. Waiting for her to communicate what she needed. 

“I can’t do this, Matthew. I’m so tired.” She sagged against the edge of the pool, head lolling to the side, and he grasped her hand. 

“Yes, you can. Look at me, Elektra. You are the most powerful woman I’ve ever met. You’ve got this.”

She lifted her head to face him, voice barely a whisper. “Is the baby okay, can you tell? Please, Matthew…”

He smiled gently, “Yes, it sounds strong. Like you.”

“I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. What if I’m not made for it?”

“You are. Trust me.”

“Oh,” she gasped, tensing. Then wailed, “I… Something’s wrong!”

“What is it?” Matt asked, urgently, rubbing circles over her wrist with his thumb. The baby’s heart rate had changed slightly, but he didn’t want to tell her that and alarm her further. A midwife - Maureen, Matt thought - crouched down beside Matt and took Elektra’s other hand.

“You’re fine, love. This is transition. The best part is next.” Elektra nodded minutely, then gasped “Go slowly, don’t rush.”

The muscular contractions of Elektra’s uterus changed entirely. No longer the softening and opening, this was pure expulsive power. Elektra moved her hands to grasp the pool edge and rocked back, knees planted wide. A low, guttural moan rose from her throat, more animal than human. The surge lasted thirty seconds, then she sagged forward again, forehead on the pool edge, breathing hard. “Is it meant to feel like this?”

“Yes, you’re doing beautifully. You’ll meet your baby very soon,” Maureen soothed. Matt had a strange feeling rising in his chest. Their baby. It was nearly here, and then it would be more than a muffled heartbeat and firm kicks through skin and muscle.

Elektra lifted her head again, opening her mouth to release a roar that rose and rose, filling the room. It ended in a gasp, and Elektra tilted her face downwards. “Matthew, the head! I can see the head!” She took his hand and guided it to between her legs. There it was, a softness Matt had never imagined. The finest hair moved gently in the water, underneath Matt’s fingertips, sprouting from soft skin. And under that, the thin plates of a tiny skull, so small Matt could cup it in his palm. He pulled his hand back, stroking down Elektra’s arm and pressing his forehead to hers. 

“You are an amazing woman. Look what you are doing,” he whispered.

She laughed lightly, then gasped again before bearing down once with another roar and squeezing his hand  _ so tightly _ . She paused, and the baby shifted and turned, and then she let go his hand and with a last primal roar a shape slipped into her fingers. Elektra scooped the baby out of the water, pulling it to her breast. It was floppy and didn’t make a sound. 

“Why isn’t it crying? What’s going on?” Matt listened desperately for long moments. The tiny heartbeat was steady, but there was so little movement. Then there was the smallest gasp he’d ever heard, an arm was flung out and a high, keening cry rose out of the tiny being. 

Maureen placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “She’s fine. That was her first breath.”

“She?” Matt asked, hopefully.

“You have a daughter.”

The words hit him with full force. A daughter. A tiny, helpless child. His child.

Elektra was leaning back against the pool, the baby’s head bobbing around against her breast as it made mewling noises. Maureen murmured quietly to Elektra, helping her guide the tiny mouth to her nipple. After a few attempts they had success, and the baby latched on, her jaw clicking as she sucked and swallowed. Matt cautiously reached out, stroking a finger across her tiny head. Elektra herself was silent. “Are you okay, Elektra?” Matt asked. She nodded, face turned to the creature in her arms. After a while, the baby released her nipple with a soft pop and relaxed back, breathing gently. “Is she asleep?” Matt asked. Elektra nodded again.

“Matt,” came Maureen’s voice, at his elbow. “It’s time to cut the cord. Do you want to do it?”

“Uh, yes, I guess so?” Matt had forgotten about this part. Elektra and the baby were still joined. He took the offered scissors and felt carefully where Maureen showed him to cut, between the ties she had placed. The cord was thick, fibrous and surprisingly tough, requiring more force than he expected to sever it. It was also cool. Maureen explained that the blood had stopped pulsing, and the baby had all she would get from the placenta. She was now a wholly independent being.

Shortly after, Elektra decided to leave the birthing pool for the final stage - the birth of the placenta. Matt took a seat in a comfortable armchair and undid his shirt buttons, exposing his chest. A wrapped bundle was placed in his arms, and he opened the blanket and placed her chest against his skin, feeling her heart beat against him. “What does she look like?” he asked the midwife. To his surprise, she laughed.

“Like a baby. They all look reddish and pruney at this stage. She’s got red hair.”

“Red? Really? That’s the Irish coming through, I suppose,” he murmured, focussing all his attention back to the infant. He ran his fingers through the halo of fuzz covering the fragile skull. Her tiny fingers were fisted, the nails paper-thin.

“She’s beautiful, Matt.”

“I know,” he said, with a smile. 

He could hear Elektra towelling herself off and wrapping up in a gown, then making her way unsteadily to the bathroom as the midwife quizzed her quietly on how she was feeling.

Matt held his baby, and whispered a benediction. “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields.” He pressed his lips against her thistledown head, breathing in the indescribable scent of her, and felt an entirely unanticipated rush of love, protection and fierceness tangle in his chest. “I will always keep you safe, no matter what.” 

Another midwife, Aileen, took his phone to take a photo of him holding the baby, telling him that he looked like a natural already.

“Elektra? Elektra? Wake up honey.” There was a sudden bustle of movement from the bathroom, voices urgent, and a low moan from Elektra. “Call Dr. Tyler. Now.” That was Maureen again, commanding and brisk. Matt heard an alarm echoing down the hall.

Matt rose to his feet, pressing the baby gently to himself. “What’s wrong, is something wrong?” He walked to the bathroom, where he could smell the metallic tang of blood. It seemed to be filling the small space, choking out the air.

“She’s haemorrhaging. The blood came out when she birthed the placenta. We’re taking her to surgery,” Aileen threw over her shoulder as she rushed past.

Suddenly the room was filled with people. Matt pressed himself to the wall, the baby tight against his chest. Elektra’s limp form was placed on a gurney, then the bustle and noise whisked out of the room, down the hall and into an elevator. Matt was left alone clutching his newborn baby, with only the overwhelming smell of blood in the room.

He stood for a few moments, then carefully closed the bathroom door and went back to his chair. He couldn’t do anything to help what was happening with Elektra, except to pray. So he cradled his daughter and prayed for her mother.

When Matt was finally allowed in to Elektra’s room she was asleep, very still on the bed. She had needed a blood transfusion and life-saving surgery, and still had an IV in her arm. The baby started to cry, and Matt, unsure, stood in the doorway until a midwife came to help him. She latched the hungry baby to Elektra’s breast, and the baby nursed for several minutes, until she became slow and heavy,  but Elektra barely stirred. 

The baby was still undressed, wrapped in a blanket, and the midwife coached Matt through putting on her first diaper, which dwarfed her. The artificial materials of the diaper seemed harsh and unnatural to Matt, and he wondered if cloth diapers were still a thing these days, as he wrangled the thin, wobbly limbs into a singlet and a onesie. The whole exercise of feeding and changing seemed to have exhausted her, so Matt placed her in a crib next to Elektra’s bed. He tucked the blankets over her in the way he’d been shown, and made himself comfortable on a reclining chair. He pulled out his phone and sent the photo off to Foggy and Karen, and after some thought Maggie, before dragging a blanket over himself and sinking into a light sleep. 

He was woken by the baby, kicking against her blankets and mewling. He scooped her up and held her to his chest. She quietened but mouthed against him, rooting around for a nipple that wasn’t going to help her. A new midwife came in and gently took her from him, once again latching her to Elektra’s breast so she could nurse. Then she brought the baby back to him, placing her against his chest. “I’ve taken off her clothes except for her diaper. Open your shirt so she can rest skin to skin against you. It will help her settle.”

“It’s still worth it?”

“Oh yes, it helps her with her temperature. She’s not able to regulate herself very well yet, being so new.”

She was so soft, and covered with a light fuzz of hair - lanugo, he remembered. The midwife handed him a soft cotton blanket to cover her back, and he pulled a warmer woolen one over the top. There was an unexpected sense of  _ rightness _ from having his child’s skin against his own. Matt knew that he was experiencing a rush of oxytocin, bonding the two of them in love, but that seemed such a clinical way of describing what he was experiencing. She snuffled her nose against him, then turned her face to the side and and breathed a small sigh, relaxing against him. Cautiously, he traced the shell of her ear, finding tiny hairs there along the outer edge. Her hands were fisted, raised on each side of her head again. Her feet were tucked up, crossed over each other. He imagined that tiny feet would press more easily into a soft, postnatal belly. 

Some time later the baby pooped meconium, and it was disgusting, and Matt had to deal with it, although a midwife was there to give advice. Elektra slept on, responding groggily when the midwives checked her vital signs. 

Eventually, Elektra stirred, rolling over to face him and the baby. “How are you feeling?” he asked, in a whisper.

She cleared her mouth. “Thirsty. Tired. Like I pushed a watermelon out of my vagina then was run over by an eighteen wheeler. What happened?”

“You bled. I don’t know much more than that.” The baby snuffled again, rooting for milk. “I think she’s hungry.” He leaned over and placed her on the bed with her mother, the cotton blanket around her. 

Elektra moved slowly, cautiously. She pulled the baby in beside her and the baby lunged, hungrily. “Well, it seems to know what it wants.”

“She. Our daughter. We should name her.”

Elektra hummed. “I’m too tired to think about it.”

“That’s okay. We have time.”

The noise of the baby’s sucking filled the room for several minutes, until it slowed, and Matt thought she might be drifting towards sleep. Then she tensed, holding her breath, and there was an explosive sound as she filled her diaper. Matt and Elektra both froze, horrified. “Has that happened before?” Elektra sounded intensely unimpressed.

“Not quite that… violently. No.” Matt scooped her up again and took her to the change table. It was a challenge, removing all the poop while trying to be as gentle as possible, but he supposed it would get easier with practice. Behind him, Elektra pushed up slowly until she was seated, then rose to her feet and shuffled into the bathroom, wheeling her IV stand with her. By the time she came out, Matt and baby were back in the chair. 

Elektra lay down and Matt moved to place the baby in the bed beside her but she waved him off. “I need to sleep. You look after her. You make a good pair.” 

“You’re not hungry?”

“No.” She curled in on herself and was soon asleep again. Matt tried to ignore the worry that was chewing at his gut, and instead focussed on his daughter. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Elektra has the baby slightly early. The birth is normal, but afterwards Elektra haemorrhages and she needs surgery. She’s okay but exhausted and a bit detached. Matt bonds with his new baby, who is a girl.
> 
> _________
> 
> The OC midwives here get their names from the two wonderful independent midwives who looked after me with my first and third children. These lead maternity carers each provided care from the start of pregnancy through to 6 weeks after birth, including many home visits. The equally-wonderful midwife for my second child was called Julie.
> 
> ALSO: I'm aware that midwife-led care is very far from the norm in the USA. But it's what I know. I decided that because Elektra is 'richer than God' she can choose where she wants to birth - and that happens to be a very fancy, private birthing centre with full surgical facilities and OBs on call, and part of that choice is having midwives as primary attendants during birth.


	4. If You Love Me Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just posting the rest of the work now, because, while patience is a virtue, instant gratification feels great.
> 
> Thanks again to my beta, sleepyMoritz! They are probably so sick of me banging on about this fic.

The baby was three weeks old, and she still didn’t have a name. Elektra had stayed in the private birthing centre, with its attentive midwives and team of chefs, for six days, then returned to her comfortable apartment. Matt had been staying over at night to help  - the papers had observed that Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been noticeably absent. Matt’s nights were now a delightful blur of baby snuggles and smelly diapers, and his days were long hours at the office where he had to concentrate hard to push back the fog of sleep deprivation. The situation wasn’t entirely sustainable.

Matt pushed open the office door, late to the party but vertical and dressed like a lawyer. He’d even manage to arrive before Foggy.

“Good morning, Mr. Murdock! Want a coffee?”

“Oh god, yes, please Karen.”

She brushed past him into the office, and he deposited his briefcase on his desk then moved back to lean against the kitchenette wall, facing her. He smothered a yawn behind his hand, and she laughed. “Like that, huh?”

“Ha. Yeah, it is. But no one died from being a new parent, right?”

“Well, no one’s ever admitted to dying from it.” Karen pressed the cup of coffee into his hand and Matt cradled it against his chest. She was silent for a moment then burst out laughing. “You’re rocking your coffee.”

“What?” He came back to himself, realising that he’d pushed away from the wall and was swaying gently. “Oh. Huh. She’s been really unsettled in the evenings. She likes it when I walk with her.”

“No name, yet?”

“Not yet.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead.

“Matt, you look really tired.”

“I’m fine. Really.” Matt set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.

Foggy opened the office door and walked in with his usual cheery air, greeting them with a breezy, “Hello, hello.” He hung up his coat then walked over to accept a cup of coffee from Karen. “You look like shit, Murdock.”

“I was just telling him that,” Karen added helpfully.

Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“That is Murdock code for ‘Everything is terrible and awful.’”

“Really Foggy, I’m fine,” Matt repeated. Karen gave a very un-ladylike snort.

“Yeah, and I’m the Hulk,” Foggy said. “Look I’ve got everything under control today. Go home for a nap.” Matt started to form a protest but Foggy cut across him. “That’s not a request. Go. You’ll be much more useful if you can think clearly and not lurking here like the corpse bride, frightening clients.”

Matt’s shoulders slumped. Foggy was right, and the thought of his own bed was too delicious to resist. He nodded meekly, knocked back his coffee and gathered his things. 

“I don’t want to see you back here until tomorrow, at the earliest,” Foggy called after him as he made his exit.

Matt’s apartment was cold and musty, and he realised he hadn’t been there in days. He turned the heat on low, discarded his jacket and suit, pulled on a soft hoodie and sweat pants, burrowed in under the covers and was out within minutes.

He woke several hours later, and for a moment experienced the disorientation of afternoon waking. As the sleep cleared, Matt was left feeling refreshed and more lucid than he had in several days. He rolled onto his back and stretched out, and his thoughts circled round to Elektra. She very clearly was not finding motherhood and the postpartum transition easy. She would hand the baby off to Matt immediately after feeding, and it was mostly Matt who changed diapers and comforted her at night. Elektra hadn’t been talking very much at all, in fact, which was out of character. She smelled strongly of sour milk, she was still bleeding and Matt knew she was weak and uncomfortable. The physical changes were hard enough to deal with, he assumed, but mentally she’d retreated in on herself. He would let himself into the apartment to find the baby in her crib, making small squeaking noises or even crying, while Elektra lay bundled in the bed. He could often tell that she’d been weeping. Matt couldn’t wait to pick up his daughter, holding her cheek to his own and smelling her milky sweetness, feeling her soft, soft skin. But Elektra didn’t seem interested in her, beyond keeping her alive. Matt was worried.

Reaching the point where bladder pressure had exceeded pit suction, Matt climbed out of bed to stand under a hot shower and by the time he emerged he had a plan: They would hire a nanny to help Elektra and subscribe to a meal delivery plan. Elektra would have time to heal and energy to devote to their child.

Matt made himself a late lunch, humming as he cooked and feeling more relaxed and in control than he had over the last week. 

He caught a cab to Elektra’s, and as soon as he stepped in the door he knew things were very different. The cleaner had been and the apartment felt sterile, cleansed. Elektra was sitting on the couch, and greeted him as he entered. She seemed her usual, assured self, which was a relief, but something was still off.

“Matthew,” she said. “Please sit. Would you like a wine?”

“Uh, yes, thank you. Where’s the little one?” Matt sat, as she poured a glass and held it out to him.

“With the nanny.” Matt took the glass from her, frowning.

“Nanny? What nanny?”

“Bridie. She started today.”

Matt frowned. “You hired a nanny without talking to me?”

“She comes well recommended. I’m confident she’s a good choice.”

Matt took a sip, mulling this over. Maybe they were on the same page. “That’s good, although I’d like to meet her.”

“Of course. She’s in the nursery and will be in shortly. Although, first, we need to talk.” Matt nodded. Elektra took a breath. “This isn’t working for me,” she said. 

Matt agreed. “I know. You’re tired, you’re healing. I was thinking today that we needed help.”

“You need help.”

Matt bristled. “Me? I’m fine. Sure, I’ve been tired, but I want to do this.”

“I know you do, Matthew,” she said soothingly, smooth as silk. “You’re much better at it than me, we both know that.”

“So what are you getting at?” Matt said, nettled. “Is my blindness suddenly a problem for you?”

“No, of course not.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You know I have never cared about that. No, I’m talking about me. I’m leaving.”

Matt gaped, stunned, for several seconds. “What? What do you mean ‘leaving’?”

“I’m leaving. I have a plane to catch in four hours. I’m going to Greece.”

Matt recoiled as though she had punched him in the gut. After a moment, he managed to whisper, “You’re taking her away from me?”

“No! I would never do that. I said  _ I _ was leaving. She’s staying here with you.”

“What?” Matt was reeling, disorientated by the unexpected path this conversation was taking. Carefully, he placed his wine glass on the table in front of him, and clasped his hands.  “What are you talking about, Elektra?”

“I am not a mother. Maybe one day I could be, but right now I can’t. So I'm going, and she's staying with you, here in New York.”

Matt jumped up out of his seat and hissed, “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re abandoning our child,  _ your daughter _ ?” He started pacing, then he turned and pointed at her, jabbing his finger through the air. “I knew you were selfish, but this goes to a whole new level.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration, and paced again.

Elektra remained still, calm, long legs crossed. When she spoke she was impassive. “I have made a deposit into your bank account.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“But you will need it,” she said, coolly.

She wasn’t wrong, but it rankled. “What we need is for you to stay!” Matt cried. “What sort of mother abandons her baby?”

“I am not abandoning her. She will be with you.”

Matt swung around to face her, clenching his fists at his sides. “She deserves two parents! She needs you!”

“You’re right. She does deserve two parents. Two healthy parents. But I cannot parent her at all, so you will have to be the best parent you can.” Her voice became beseeching. “Matthew, I know you. I know how big your heart is and how deeply you love. You can be everything for her.” 

“Can’t parent her? What the fuck does that mean? She’s breastfed!”

“She took the bottle today. She’ll be fine.” Elektra sighed and her tone lost its crispness, becoming weary. “Look, Matthew, right now I don’t feel anything except miserable. I don’t feel like her mother and I can’t pretend that I am. If I do, I won’t survive. I have to leave. If I stay, I don’t know what will happen. I have to leave while there is still something of me left. I thought you would understand.”

“Understand? Understand what it is to be a child abandoned? Yeah, I understand.” Matt turned away, hands on his hips, the blank wall of glass in front of him, the city beyond hidden from his perception.

“Matthew! I’m not your mother, or mine! You are not your father. She will never want for money. And.” She paused, swallowed. “I will probably be back. I just can’t promise anything. 

Matt turned his head towards her, his chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. “I never thought you were a coward.”

“I’m a survivor.”

“You’re heartless.”

“Matthew. Stop.” Her voice was colder, harsher. “You know perfectly well that I know what it is like to be alone. But she will  _ not _ be alone.”

“I can’t look after her. What if… What if I get hurt out in the mask? What if something happens to me?”

“You are already looking after her. And you will just have to look after yourself, too.” She stood and turned away, towards the door. “ _ Je suis desolée, mon cher _ .”

Matt lunged for her, grasping her wrist and squeezing tightly. He knew that he was hurting her, but he was so angry. “Elektra,” he said.

For the first time, Elektra’s voice cracked, betraying the emotion underneath. In a whisper, she said, “I have never been good enough for you, Matthew, and I am not good enough for her, either.” Gently, she loosened his fingers from her wrist. “Please, let me go.” She picked up her bag and slipped out of the apartment and their lives.

 

**_________**

 

Matt was furious, raging and boiling. But he had to hold it together, keep the devil inside, while he met Bridie and they discussed the details of her hours. She seemed competent and kind, and Matt didn’t doubt Elektra’s judgement in hiring her. As soon as was reasonable, he excused himself, explaining that he would be back within a couple of hours to collect the baby and show Bridie his apartment. He was still angry, but it was daylight and he couldn’t go out in the suit.

So he went to visit his priest.

Matt knew that Lantom didn’t peddle in empty platitudes, but just this once it would have been nice to hear some. Instead, Lantom was frustratingly prosaic.

“You can’t make other people do anything. From what you’ve told me of her, I don’t think Elektra is someone you could bend to your will, even if you tried.”

“I want her to see sense! To know what she’s doing to us, by leaving.” Matt’s hands were balled into fists, clenched against his thighs. His knuckles creaked and cracked.

“It sounds as though she understands the gravity of her departure.”

“But she’s still gone!” Matt slammed one fist against his thigh.

“Matthew, you’re hurting. For yourself and your child. And that’s normal. As people, we are all flawed, and we all make mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes have an effect beyond our control. As the person wronged, all we can do is forgive.”

“What about retribution? God Himself rains punishment on those who wrong Him.”

“Divine retribution is just that - divine. We are mortal, you and I. We can’t see creation as God does, so He has shared with us the gift of forgiveness. Forgiveness is not easy, but it brings blessings to us, if only we embrace it.”

As far as Matt was concerned, forgiveness could shove it.

 

**_________**

 

“Where can I find a good lawyer around here?”

Foggy startled, dropping his pen and pressing a hand to his chest. “Jesus, Murdock. Enough with the sneaky ninja moves.” He stood up and walked around the desk, holding his hands out, and Matt loosened the carrier and slipped out his wriggling daughter, passing her over. “What’s up?” 

“Birth certificate. I need to update it with her name.” Matt dropped the birth certificate and corrections form on Foggy’s desk, then dropped himself into the spare chair. He massaged his temple, exhausted after a night of mental raging at Elektra. He’d given Bridie the morning off.

“And does she have a name? Do you, my darling?” Foggy had the baby cradled in his arms, stroking her hair while she made small gurgling and cooing noises.

“She does. Molly Christina Natchios Murdock.”

“Hello Molly. I'm your Uncle Foggy.” Foggy carefully placed Molly against one shoulder, sat back down and pulled a pen and the forms towards him with the other hand. “You don’t need a lawyer for this.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “No, but I do need someone who can fill out the paperwork.”

“I’m pretty expensive. I need to be paid in cuddles.”

“You’re getting them, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Foggy planted a kiss on Molly’s head. “Why Molly?”

“It’s. It's a diminutive form of, um, Margaret.”

Foggy tilted his face up, presumably to look at him. “Matt. That’s really nice. Have you told her?”

“Maggie? No. Not yet.”

Foggy went back to writing on the form, confirming the spelling as he went. “What about the other name? Christina?”

“Elektra’s mom.”

“What a mouthful. You poor baby. There, all done.” Foggy pushed the papers back at him, then shifted Molly so she was held in the crook of his elbow. “Miss Molly-Polly. We’re going to have some fun together. Yes we are.”

“Your voice gets higher when you’re talking to her.”

“That’s because she’s a baby, isn’t it, my darling? Yes it is.” Foggy talked to Molly for a few minutes, then out of nowhere asked, “Why didn't Elektra fill out the forms?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably. He'd known he'd have to address this eventually. “She's gone.”

“Gone where?” Matt could only shrug in response. There was a beat, where Foggy's scrutiny hung heavy in the air. Molly's breathing was slowing, as she dropped into sleep. “You're shitting me. Gone. She's good at that. Is she coming back?”

“I don't know.” Matt ran his thumb over the sharp edge of the label on the end of the carrier strap. “Looks like it's just me and Molly, for a while anyway.”

Another pause. “And me. And Karen.”

Matt felt tears prick his eyes. He nodded, swallowing back a lump in his throat. Foggy's chair squeaked as he stood up, and he came round the desk. Matt stood and automatically held out his arms for his daughter. Molly was soft, boneless and snuffling quietly. He placed her against his chest, busying himself with smoothing the fabric of the carrier over her bottom and rolling the top edge so her neck was supported, then tightening the straps.

“When did she leave?” Foggy asked, quietly. 

“Yesterday evening.”

“I'm guessing she didn't give you much warning?”

“You could say that,” Matt said. He pressed his lips to the top of Molly’s head, breathing in her scent and feeling it calm him.

“Sooooo,” Foggy said, placing his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from his toes to his heels then back again. “How are we going to work this? Are we opening a crêche?”

“What? No.” Matt shook his head. “I've got a nanny.”

“That's a relief. How did you find one so fast?” 

“Elektra. She’s taken care of a lot of details.” Matt sat down, wearily, absently patting Molly on the back.

“Is she hot? Or like Nanny McPhee when the kids are bad?’

“How would I know?” Matt shrugged. “She’s young.”

“Hot, then.” Foggy pulled over a chair and sat down, facing Matt, hands clasped between his knees. “Okay. But give it to me straight, Matt. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.”

“Matt! Don't you dare. I thought we were past that.”

Matt tipped his head back and rolled it to the side then straightened it and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Honestly? I'm fucking terrified. I don't know what it's like to  _ have _ parents, let alone  _ be _ a parent.” Foggy opened his mouth to speak, and Matt held up a hand. “But I know that we'll be okay.” He allowed himself a half-smile. “How hard can it be?”

“I have no idea. Although your rumpled appearance gives some indication. But together,” Foggy spread his hands, palm up, “We can do it. This Avo-Uncle is here for you.” He held out his fist.

Matt laughed. “Foggy Nelson, the avuncular Avo-uncle,” he said, bumping Foggy’s fist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So this was an intense chapter.
> 
> I want to be really clear that I'm not criticising Elektra for her choice. I think she's brave to advocate for herself. But this fic is written from Matt's POV, and obviously her leaving is really difficult for him.
> 
> Many of us live in countries where an awful lot is expected of new mothers, and very little support provided. It's hard enough, even for the mother without post natal depression, anxiety or psychosis. Throw mental illness in there, and it can be horrendous. We need to do what we can to nurture parents, especially in the first few weeks to months after birth.
> 
> Also, Foggy is the best.


	5. These Words Are Knives That Often Leave Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt tries to figure out what's next. And copes less than admirably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta, again, is sleepyMoritz.

“Father?” Matt said, quietly.

Lantom startled, and turned to face Matt, hand over his heart. “Matthew. There’s no need to sneak up on an old man like that.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean,” Matt began, but the priest waved away the apology. 

“Have a seat, son. Latte?”

“Please,” Matt said. He slipped into a rickety chair, placing his folded cane on the tabletop and skimming his fingertips over the surface. It was old and worn, imbued with the nicks and dents of an eventful life. Matt listened to the buzz of the machine, coffee trickling into the china cup beneath. “Have you ever… struggled to find the strength to go on?”

“Ha. Just a casual chat.” The machine gave a loud, screeching hiss as Lantom turned on the frothing wand. Matt resisted the urge to cover his ears. Eventually Lantom turned the machine off and banged the metal cup on the bench before pouring a steady stream of milk into the the coffee cups. He came over to the table, placing Matt’s cup beside his hand. “If we never struggled, our lives would be much less interesting, don’t you think?” Lantom eased himself into a chair, knees creaking. His vestments rustled, the sound reassuringly familiar.

“Agreed. But sometimes it seems like God, the universe, and everyone around me is conspiring to make my life more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Matthew, it pays to remember that everyone is living their own life. It’s seldom that the actions of others are consciously directed at us.”

“You think?”

“I know. Everyone’s just doing the best they can.”

Matt nodded slowly and took a sip of coffee, buying time to work out what else to say. Fortunately, the priest didn’t seem to expect a response.

“Everyone is fighting their own battle,” Lantom continued. “When you remember that, understanding and forgiveness are much easier to reach.” Matt smiled, ruefully.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes drinking their coffee, before Lantom rose with a suppressed groan, and patted Matt on the shoulder. “God and Mass wait for no man. Join us, if you wish.”

Matt took a pew near the back of the church, as was his habit. Midweek, daytime Mass was always a much quieter, more pious affair than the Sunday morning services, bustling with families. He picked out Maggie, with the other nuns, and knew that she would have noticed him, but Matt was not ready to approach her.

Matt knew it was coincidence, that the readings, hymns and service had been decided before his chat with Lantom, but as he sat and listened to the reading from 2 Corinthians 5-11 he could not help but squirm uncomfortably. Long ago, Lantom had told him that God spoke in whispers, but this felt like an angel was looming over him, reprimanding him. Matt left the church as soon as the service ended. 

Matt tested out the safety net, and was surprised to feel it holding when Foggy enthusiastically agreed to sit Molly for the night, freeing Matt for a visit to Fogwell’s. ‘ _ It’s no problem Matty, and you’ll be much more tolerable in the office tomorrow. Get gone,’ _ he had said, physically pushing Matt as he dithered in the doorway, gym bag over one shoulder. 

Matt’s hair clung to his face in small clumps, flicks of sweat dripping off the ends with each smack of his fist into the bag. With each punch, Matt smashed his anger, his hurt into the bag. The force from every punch pulled from his calves, up the corded muscles of his back, through the bones, muscle and sinew of his arm and through his knuckles, dissipating away from him. The taste of leather on leather filled his mouth, heavy sound waves curving over the ropes around the ring, echoing around the gym until it faded away. Matt hit and shouted and hit until he felt completely empty. He stepped back from the bag, breathing hard and walked backwards until  he sat down hard on the wooden bench, his hands hanging between his knees. And he felt… Nothing. Nothing at all.

Foggy didn’t ask questions when Matt arrived back at his apartment, seeming to know without being told that Matt wasn’t in the mood for chatter. He only nodded at the door, shrugging into his coat, when Matt told him that he might be a little late in the morning, and offered a bright, “See you tomorrow, buddy,” before closing the door behind him.

The next morning brought coffee, Bridie, and a sense of calm. St Agnes wasn’t far out of Matt’s way, walking between the office and his apartment.

Matt politely declined assistance from the two nuns he encountered on his way in, navigating confidently towards the familiar heartbeat.

“Sister?”

Maggie spun to face him, habit billowing slightly around her. Her heart suged into a rapid pitter-patter, but when she spoke it was with dry, measured tones. “Matthew. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Tell me about when I was born. I need to know.”

“And you expect me to make time for you,” she said, wry.

“I think I deserve to know.”

“Yes, you probably do. Come on, laundry again.”

Matt followed her down the stairs to the laundry room, wrinkling his nose against the lint-filled air. He followed her lead, moving where she directed him, sorting and folding. After a while, she started to talk.

“You were such a beautiful child. Perfect. Jack loved you the instant he laid eyes on you.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Of course I did. You were miraculous, all dark eyes, and hair that stuck straight up. And you had a very fine pair of lungs. I’d never been more frightened by anyone in my life.”

“What do you mean?” 

She sighed, a sound that seemed to come from her very bones. “It was… wonderful, amazing and overwhelming. But I was so deep in it that I couldn’t see my way through. It was years before I could even think back to that time without experiencing anxiety.” 

“Anxiety? Over what?” he asked.

“Over... my failings, losing myself and my ability to function,” she said, lowly. 

Matt shook his head uncomprehendingly. “You did lose us, you ran away from us, from the family we could have been. What did you think - that you could hide away from the world in a convent?

“I.. I don’t know if Jack ever told you this, but I was a danger to you and to myself. If I had... stayed, one or both of us would have died. I didn’t have agency over that decision.”

“Did Dad… kick you out?” Matt asked, forehead creasing in a frown.

“No, no,” she said, soothingly. “Jack was very worried, he didn’t know what to do. He tried everything he could think of, but one day I scared him badly, and he couldn’t come up with anything else to try. He asked Paul for help, so Paul came with some sisters, and they decided to take me away, bring me here to watch over me.”

Matt nodded, thinking of Lantom’s kind and soothing voice, incense imbued in the folds of his clothing. “Was it more than depression?’

She shrugged. “Not much was known at the time, and I didn’t receive professional help, but it was probably post natal psychosis. I can’t tell you much about it, unfortunately. My memories are… blurry at best.”

“Why didn’t you come back to us, once you were better?”

She sighed, shaking out a sheet. “I was terrified. I was sure I would get sick again, and the convent was safe. I stayed where I felt safe.”

“And… When, when I…” Matt swallowed. “When I arrived at St Agnes, did you feel resentment, anger towards me?” 

“No! Never.” she said, sharply. She opened her mouth, closed it and shook her head then opened her mouth again. “Matthew, I don’t know how to make this sound right, but it wasn’t  _ about _ you. It was happening  _ in my head _ . It was all me. And for a while there, I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”

Matt frowned. “But you left me.”

“I did. And I left Jack, and the life we had made, our home. And the community we lived in.”

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, and thought about the weight of those words, made himself pause before responding. “That can’t have been an easy decision.”

“Honestly, Matthew, there wasn’t much of a choice in it. I don’t think I was capable of making any decisions. I wasn’t showering or feeding myself, and I was neglecting you. It’s quite the extreme, and I thank God that it doesn’t happen to every mother, but I don’t think I was alone in that struggle.”

Matt laughed, quietly. “No, I don’t think so.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Matthew, has something happened?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. Can I tell you later?”

“Of course.” She knew how to wait, allow him to show his hand.

“I’m here because… I.” Matt took a breath, reaching for his resolve. Het pulled out his phone and navigated to the photo album Foggy had curated for him. “I thought, maybe, you might like to see?” He held the phone out to Maggie, who took it gently from him. “Her name is Molly.”

“Molly,” Maggie breathed. She was quiet as she scrolled slowly, occasionally gasping or laughing under her breath. She paused on one image for a few moments, then said, “I can see you in her.”

“You can?” Matt asked, interest piqued.

“Yes,” she said, consideringly. “I’m not sure what it is. Maybe the shape of her mouth. But she is something like you were as a baby. Her hair, of course, comes from my mother.”

Matt didn’t think that was obvious at all. “Your mother had red hair?”

“She did. But, then, I suppose you wouldn’t know that.”

Matt shook his head. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your hair. What colour is it?”

“Oh,” Maggie said, surprised. “It’s dark. Like yours. I don’t even have much grey.”

“I thought vanity was a sin, Sister,” Matt said, mouth twitching into a smile.

“Careful, Murdock. Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.” She held the phone out to him, and he took it, pocketing it. He shoved both hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly like a small boy.

“Fair. You know, I don’t know much about my family - yours or, or Jack’s. Would you… be willing to tell me, sometime?”

“Of course,” she said, and he could hear the notes of a smile. “You only ever had to ask.” She turned away and sat on a low stool, pulling a basket towards her and shaking out a small garment to fold. 

Matt nodded, shoulders hitching higher. “Would you, ah. Would you like to meet her? Molly.” he asked, cautiously.

Maggie lifted her face to look into his, hands stilling in her lap. Then she said, “I would like that very much.”

Matt nodded, allowing himself a small smile. “After church on Sunday? We could have lunch together.”

Maggie was still, contained, holding herself very tightly, heart beating like a caged bird. Then she picked up the garment again, shaking it to snap out the wrinkles with more force than seemed necessary. “I look forward to it.”

 

**_________**

 

As a blind person, Matt was accustomed to the condescension of some, the unwanted offers of help, the people who would grab his arm and try to steer him away from perceived danger, the people who thought he shouldn’t be out alone. Thankfully most people seemed to accept that he was competent to be out by himself, and left him alone.

But there was something about being a blind man  _ with a baby _ that seemed to make him fair game to the whole world.

As he walked down the street, sleeping Molly strapped to his chest, cane tapping a sharp rhythm in front of them, he could feel people staring, hear them whispering to each other, and it was exhausting. He was already tense, nervous about the scheduled lunch with Maggie.

He heard a woman stop in her tracks, staring at them. She turned to her companion and, barely bothering to lower her voice, said, “Look at that blind man, with that baby. Is that allowed? What if he falls and hurts her?”

Her companion tugged on her arm, shushing her, and Matt rolled his eyes, walking on as though they had never existed. They and the other whispering voices, people staring.

The day was crisp and cool, and Matt tugged the sides of his jacket together, over Molly’s back. She was well wrapped up, cosy and warm. She was like a small furnace, warming his core.

Just before he reached the church steps he heard quick steps and a voice behind him, calling, “Sir! Sir!”

Matt halted in his tracks and spun to face the young woman, who had a hand out. He planted his cane in front of himself, frowning. “Yes, I’m blind, but I’m perfectly capable of parenting my own child. She is quite safe and happy, thank you.”

The footsteps faltered, the woman stopping just in front of him. “Oh, uh, I bet she is. But, um, her bootie fell off?”

Matt felt himself blanch, then blush flaming red, one hand dropping from the handle of his cane to cup Molly’s cool foot. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” He trailed off. 

“Doesn’t matter. But do you want her bootie? I’m holding it out.”

Matt took the soft, sheepskin bootie with another mumbled apology and a nod of thanks, and tugged it back on before joining the other worshippers on their way into the church.

 

**_________**

 

“Fuck, Matt. Just… Fuck.”

Matt tried to smile, to lighten the mood. “Not right now, thanks.”

“That’s… Not what I was going for. And you look extremely un-sexy right now.” Foggy waved his hand in an expansive gesture. “Like a bruised banana, if they went purple and not that greyish brown colour. I don’t know. You’re pale and you look like you’re in pain.”

Matt started to shrug, but pain shot from his collarbone, down his back, up his neck and down his arm, causing him to have to focus only on breathing for several seconds. Staying immobile was a much better option than any body language at all. Cautiously, he adjusted the pillow under his arm, easing back against the couch cushions. The sling cut into his opposite shoulder.

Matt’s second time out on patrol, since Elektra had left. It had only been a moment of inattention, a split-second misjudgement, moving forwards when he should have moved away to deflect the blow. A strike, a crack, and he was sidelined.

“How did you even get away?”

“I kicked him in the head, knocked him down, the other guy was already down. Then I ran.” Cradling his injured arm in the other, trying not to pass out from the pain, just needing to escape. “I’m fine.” Stumbling back in to his apartment through the roof access, and startling Foggy, who was dozing on the couch with Molly on his chest.

“That word is officially verboten. It’s unmentionable. You say it again and I will kick your ass, Murdock!” Foggy sounded scared, rather than angry.

“I’m sorry, Fog.”

Foggy made an inarticulate noise, something between a groan and a growl. “No apologies. Jeez. Look, we’re going to need to make a plan. A roster or something.”

“I said I-”

“Don’t you dare!” Foggy said, pointing his finger at Matt. “And no, I don’t mean for you. You can work out how to wipe your own ass. But I’m guessing you’re not going to be able to pick up Molly any time soon. Or change her diaper. Or hold her to give her a bottle. Or do anything much with her. And Bridie isn’t here at night, so that means we need another solution.”

“We?”

“We. We’ve been over this, dude.” Foggy was pacing backwards and forwards, from the stairs to partitioning wall. “How long does a broken collarbone take to heal?”

“Four to eight weeks,” Matt said, miserably.

“And so help me, you will do everything you need to, to rest and let it heal properly and quickly.” Foggy paused his mid-stride and turned to face Matt. “Do you need to get an x-ray?”

“No. I can monitor it,” Matt said, with a shake of his head.

“That’s… Creepy, but good. Okay.” Foggy resumed his pacing. “We’ll get a crib, put it in here and I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll talk to Karen when I get to the office, see if she’s willing to do a couple of nights a week. I can’t do every night.”

“Foggy.” Matt closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch. “Do you know what you’re trying to take on?”

“Yes, I know exactly what this is. The question, Matt, is whether you do?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty clear picture.”

“You always  _ think _ you do, but I’m really not convinced.” Foggy sat down on the armchair closest to Matt, clasping his hands in front of him. “It isn’t just about you, now, Matt. If you’re injured it has an even bigger effect than it did before you had that gorgeous little girl. I need you to realise that.” 

Matt nodded. “Okay Fog, I get the point. I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Matt,” Foggy said, letting out a gusty breath.

“Can I ask you something, though?” Matt asked.

“Shoot.”

“Can you get me a Tylenol? Please.”

Foggy laughed shortly and stood up, already moving towards the kitchen. “Anything for you, Matty.”

 


	6. I Won't Give Up Without A Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt sorts it out.
> 
> This chapter fills the 'Josie's' square on my Daredevil bingo card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's the beta? SleepyMoritz.

Matt definitely preferred Foggy’s nights. Foggy knew when to back off, but Karen. Karen couldn’t help herself. Karen had to ask the awkward questions, press his sensitive spots.

She drank from her glass of wine, took a deliberate breath and said, “You do realise you aren’t your father, don’t you?”

“Karen,” Matt said. He closed his eyes. “That’s one of the more ridiculous questions you’ve ever asked me.”

“No, really, Matt,” she said, earnest. “There’s no law of the universe that says you’re destined to repeat his mistakes. You have agency.”

“It’s not always that simple,” Matt said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Her hair swung in a smooth curtain as she bobbed her head, emphasising her words.

“Karen. Can we not?” Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose and opened his eyes again.

“You wanna know what I see right now?” she asked.

Matt shook his head again, resigned. “No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“Yeah. I see an idiot who is taking risks that are going to lead to his death. And Matt, when you die you’ll leave behind a little girl with  _ no parents to look after her. _ ” Molly had woken and was shifting slightly. Sometimes she would sink back into sleep, so he didn’t mention it to Karen.

Matt rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand. “You think I should put away the mask.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Can I politely thank you for your input, and leave it at that?”

“It was bad enough when you were risking your career, Foggy’s career and your life. But there’s even more at stake now. You need to be there for her. You can be different from your dad. You can choose to stay, for her.”

“It’s not—”

“It is that simple, Matt,” Karen said, cutting him off.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in and out before responding. He was so tired of these conversations. “Noted. I hear what you’re saying.”

From her crib in the corner, Molly started to cry. Matt made to rise, remembered he was useless right now, and sank back down as Karen waved him off. Molly quietened the moment she saw Karen, who scooped her up and cuddled her against her shoulder. “Is she hungry, Matt?” she asked, voice low.

“No,” he replied. “She just wants a snuggle. She’ll go back to sleep soon.”

Matt listened to Karen, jiggling Molly gently and humming tunelessly. He itched to hold his child, have her back in his bed and snuffling under his arm. He’d never expected that parenthood would mean he’d have to choose between his child and a defining part of him. If Elektra had stayed… But he knew that wasn’t fair, that she couldn’t have been the only one to make sacrifices.

 

**_________**

 

“How did you and Dad meet?”

“Jack was the man I never expected, or wanted, to fall in love with. I was already a novitiate, but I was rebellious. I wanted to be part of the community, to serve within it, not be aloof from it. And so I went out, probably looking for trouble. And he was there, and he pulled me in, before I realised what was happening.” She waved her hand. “You know how it goes.”

“Not exactly. I’ve never been married.”

“But you’ve been in love?”

Matt shrugged, unwilling to answer that, turning away and busying himself with the coffee machine, favouring his nearly-healed arm, holding it tucked into his side. “How do you have it?”

“Black, no sugar.”

“Puritanical or masochistic?”

She snorted, bouncing Molly on her hip. “Do you have any books I could read to her?”

Matt pointed at the bookcase, where Molly’s books were shelved. “Left hand end are print, right hand are braille/print, so you can read those, too.” 

She knelt before the bookcase, perusing the spines. “The Book With No Pictures?”

Matt smiled. “Foggy gave me that, said his niblings love it. Molly’s a bit young for it, yet. Try the trucks, or the rabbit.”

Maggie selected a book and took Molly back to the couch to read to her. Matt finished making the coffee and listened to the two of them, Molly reaching her fingers towards the book as Maggie read about the rabbit’s adventures. It took him a few moments to realise what he was feeling - contentment. An unexpected peace, at the sound of his mother reading to his daughter. 

Maggie finished reading, and let Molly take the book. Molly immediately shoved it into her mouth, gumming at one corner. Matt brought the coffee over, joining them on the couch.

“Is she teething?”

“I think so.” Matt placed the two mugs on the coffee table then picked up Molly’s sippy cup, offering her water. She cast aside the book and started chewing on the rubber teat instead.

“You know, Matthew, Jack loved you very much. He wasn’t really sure if he was giving you what you needed, but he did his best.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. We did talk. He wasn’t sure what to make of your school smarts, but he knew that it was more valuable than anything else.” Matt opened his mouth, but Maggie held up a quelling hand. “I’m not condoning his actions. I’m just explaining what I think he thought.”

Matt conceded the point with a curt nod. “He wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d be better alone.”

“No, but he was under stress. I don’t think he thought it through.”

“He never let on that he’d spoken to you. He never mentioned you at all, but then, I didn’t ask.”

“You know it was complicated. But we didn’t speak often. No cell phones in those days.”

Matt shrugged that off. “What was he like, when you met?”

Maggie laughed. “He was… Young. Handsome. Strong. Funny. Irreverent. He was so different from anyone else in my life. You know, he was younger than you are now, when he died. He left school when he was 15, and he was only there because he had to be. All he knew how to do was box.” Maggie stood up from the couch, carrying Molly over to her playpen. Molly who had recently mastered the art of sitting, reached for two of her plastic cups and banged them together. Maggied stayed crouched beside her, turned away from Matt. “So he never quite knew what to do with you, being such a precocious child. And after your accident… He was scared for you. He just wanted you to be able to look after yourself, and to succeed. You’re the first person in either of our families to go to college. He would have been even more proud of you, Matthew.”

“I wish he had been there, when I was accepted into law school. When I graduated.”

“So do I.” She turned her head to face him. “And, Matthew?”

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in question.

“I wish I could have been there, too.”

 

**_________**

 

Matt knew that Elektra didn’t much care for religion, for its rules and rituals. But equally, he knew that she knew where he stood. And she’d chosen to leave, so he didn’t bother telling her the date of Molly’s baptism.

Baptism felt like a promise, a new opportunity. A precious life becoming a member of the body of Christ and the Church. Matt hadn’t taken an active role before, but he’d heard them, listening from his pew in the back of the congregation, hearing the commitment of the godparents to their new godchild.

It was far more immediate, standing beside Foggy as he held Molly in her arms and Father Lantom anointed her with holy oil, then baptised her with water, making her squeal in protest and the congregation laugh quietly. He listened to Foggy and Karen take their vows as godparents, and swallowed back the lump in his throat. As Lantom resumed his recitation of the familiar service, Matt focused on the whispers of air rising amongst the exposed wood of the rafters, grounding himself in the familiarity of his church and Foggy’s heart, beating like a drum beside him.   

Molly was wearing the christening gown Matt had worn, and Jack before him, her feet kicking in a pair of woollen booties knitted by Karen. Maggie had produced the dress with few details and no ceremony, handing Matt the box and explaining that it held the Murdock family gown. Matt had taken the box and lifted the lid, running his fingers over the old, soft linen and lace, unsure how to respond at the sudden appearance of a family heirloom. Maggie had seemed to understand his disorientation, briefly squeezing his forearm and reading the address, under the lid, of the tailor in Ireland. Matt had washed the gown carefully by hand, removing most of the musty smell and hopefully the yellowing. 

Foggy had pronounced the gown ‘adorable.’ Matt had started to explain the symbolism, but Foggy had shushed him, raising Molly in the air and telling her, “Ignore your dad. I’ll be here for the fashion advice, Molly-Polly,” while she kicked and giggled.

When Father Lantom had asked Matt about the form of the ceremony, Matt had shrugged, only asking for the Benediction Prayer. Lantom had nodded, approving of the choice, and now used the prayer in closing, saying “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

Matt shook himself, centering himself in the present and accepting his child from her godfather and feeling her relax into his arms.

Marci was in charge of photography, and she corralled them all with sharp orders, making them  pose outside on the church steps. Maggie and Lantom joined them for the photos, and Matt laughed to himself at the mental image of his rag-tag, found family, with his mother-turned-nun.

Afterwards, they repaired to Josie’s - Maggie pleaded obligations at St Agnes, while Lantom accepted with an enthusiasm which had made Foggy laugh, the sound rapidly converted into a cough when Marci elbowed him in the ribs. Brett made a muttered comment, but Josie didn’t seem too concerned about Molly’s presence.

Foggy toasted his goddaughter, her godparents and the priest. Before things got too messy Matt scooped his sleeping baby out of Brett’s arms and took her home.

 

**_________**

 

Matt hunched over, high on his rooftop, bundled against the cold. Around him, humanity swirled in all its forms. People loved and laughed and fought and cried and Matt crouched alone and separate, listening to their little lives intersect, each one precious and unique.

The church bells sounded, a few blocks away, and Father Lantom’s voice echoed in his head.

_ “You think you’re the only one who can look after this city, Matthew?“ _

_ “I’ve been looking after this city for so long, it’s been my responsibility. I thought her mother would still be here, that I could keep being… him.”  _

_ “Is it possible that there are now others better placed to take this on? I have heard of others.” _

Matt shook himself slightly in irritation. It wasn’t about being the only one, it was about using the abilities he had, making a difference in a way he could. His attention was caught by a shout, a few hundred yards away, but it was only a group of boisterous youths. He tilted his head in the other direction, a habitual scan of his surroundings. 

_ “You thought your life wouldn’t change?” _

_ “No, not that. Of course not.” _

His life had changed, irrevocably. In ways that he hadn’t anticipated. But other things were the same, Foggy, their firm. The work they were doing to help their community.

_ “Whose responsibility is this child, Matthew?” _

_ “I know she’s my responsibility, Father. Mine alone.” _

_ “Do you? Do you really understand that?” _

A siren started up, and then another one. Matt strained to listen past them, to hear what the disturbance was. But he didn't move from his rooftop spot. Below him, Molly snuffled quietly in her sleep.

_ “So you don’t want to have to choose, between the city and your child. Between your old life and your new reality.” _

Maybe there wasn’t much of a choice to make, after all.

 

**_________**

 

Matt hitched the shopping bag higher against his shoulder, the bottles inside clinking quietly together. Molly squirmed, kicking her legs in the air, and Matt knocked quickly on the door, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

He could hear Foggy inside, groaning quietly before getting up and padding in stocking feet to the door. The door swung open and Foggy, clearly surprised, ushered them inside. Matt handed him the shopping bag, which Foggy took happily, heading to the kitchen to stow the beer in the fridge. 

Matt lifted Molly out of the carrier and placed her under the playgym Foggy had set up beside the couch, small items dangling above her where she could bat at and grab them. He discarded his glasses on the coffee table and sat down at the end of the couch, where he could reach a hand down to her, and listened to her contented gurgling.

“What’s up, buddy?” Foggy asked, coming back from the kitchen and passing Matt one of the beers.

Matt took a swig, stalling for time. “I, ah, I’ve come to ask you a favour.”

Matt waited, but Foggy didn’t respond for several moments. Eventually he said, “Are you waiting for something? Or are you going to give me more information? Because I think I’m usually pretty good when it comes to helping you out.”

Matt nodded. God this was hard to say. “Yeah, you are. That’s why I wanted to ask. Would you… Could you… Um. Foggy, would you be happy babysitting a couple of evenings a week, every week? Maybe three times? I could drop her here, to you.”

Fogg breathed in through his nose, took a drink from his beer bottle. “Dude,” he said. “I already do that. I did that all the time you were.. Out of action. I kind of assumed you’d be back in the mask as soon as possible.”

“It’s not to go out on patrol. It’s to go to Fogwell’s.”

“You’re doing that, too? Are you going to have any nights in?”

Matt shook his head. “I burned the mask.”

“What?”

“I burned it Foggy. It’s gone.”

“You got your guy to make you more fetish gear?” Foggy asked, resignation in his voice.

“No. I burned the mask because I’m burying Daredevil.”

“Matt, I’ve heard you say that before, that you were giving it up. But it didn’t last.”

“That was before Molly was born. Before Elektra left us. Foggy, if something happens to me, she’ll be alone, like I was. I can’t let that happen. I’m not going to let it happen..”

“You know the mask was just a piece of fabric, right? All you need is another scarf. You hear something, you grab something you hope is black and you’re out the window. I’ve seen it before.”

“I know, Fog, I know. But this is... different. I’ve made a choice. I want to be here for her, to see her grow up.”

Foggy snorted. “You might be shit out of luck there, buddy.”

Matt grinned back at him. “Maybe. But you can watch her, and I’ll listen. Look, Fog, you said I wasn’t doing this alone. So I’m asking if you’ll help me?”

Foggy looked at him for a long moment, clearly searching out Matt’s face, reading whatever Matt was betraying. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really retiring? And you want me to help you raise her?”

“I’m serious. I can pinky promise, or cross my heart, hope to die, if you like?”

Foggy snorted. “Of course I’ll help, Matty. I already am. C’mere, bring it in.”

 

**_________**

 

Matt stroked his fingers over the thick envelope, the bumps of braille faintly discernible through the paper. Molly lay on her blanket on the grass beside him, waving her plump limbs in the air and blowing raspberries as she rolled onto her tummy and back again, making him smile. With a sigh, Matt broke the seal and slid the sheets out, smoothing them over his thigh.

_ Matthew, chérie, _

_ I have had much time to think. I am sorry for leaving you both, for being less than you deserved.  _

_ I know that you will be angry, but, Matthew, it was for the best. I hope to never again feel the depths of the despair that overtook me. I did not recognise the woman in the mirror, and even now I feel that my grip on my sense of self is tenuous. I am recovering, but it will take still more time. _

_ When I found myself, each day, lying in tears on the floor of the bathroom, I did not know who I was. My very sense of self had slipped through my fingers. Carrying the child inside me was challenge enough. Once she arrived and I was relegated to the role of being her sustenance, and my identity vanished, I knew that I needed to escape while there was still some sliver of my self remaining. _

_ I looked at her, and I felt nothing. And I hated myself for it. She’s so innocent. She doesn’t deserve my darkness. She never would have deserved the things I might have done, had I stayed. _

_ I am not a mother. I am the flash of a knife in the dark. _

_ And I looked at you with her, and I saw that you had a bond, that you already loved her so completely. Matthew, you have such strength, such an ability to pick yourself up and continue. You are so deeply good and selfless in a way I know I could never be. I know you will be all the parent our daughter needs _

_ When you tell her of me, please find it in yourself to be kind. Tell her of what we had, what we were. Do not spin false tales of perfection - tell me as I am, as I was to you. _

_ If you or she ever want for anything, you need only ask. If I am unable to provide love, I at least can provide means. You know how to contact me. _

_ Go well, Matthew. I know that you will. _

_ Elektra _

Matt refolded the letter carefully and slipped it inside the envelope, placing it beside him on the bench. He pulled the glasses from his face and wiped away the tears, which were carving salty tracks down his cheeks, and tilted his face to the sky, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. The bittersweet notes of cherry blossom fell like clouds around them. 

Beside him, Molly kicked her bare toes in the air and let out a piercing shriek, her whole body tensing in excitement as she demanded his attention. Matt laughed and scooped her up, supporting her weight as she kicked against his thighs. She waved her fist in front of his face, nearly bopping him on the nose with the toy she was holding in a death grip. Matt leant in close and blew a raspberry against the softness of her neck, prompting an earsplitting squeal and a whole-body squirm as she dropped her toy. Matt lifter her high, and swooped her down again, blowing another raspberry against her belly. She giggled delightedly, and patted her hands against his head. 

“Careful there, Matty, I’m not sure you can afford to lose any more hair.”

Matt turned Molly around, sitting her on his lap and reaching for the coffee Foggy was holding out. “Thanks, Fog,” he said, as Foggy sat down on the bench. Molly reached for the travel cup, and Matt had to hold it clear of her grabbing hands. 

“What did she have to say for herself?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged. “About what you’d expect.” The coffee was good, a nice edge of bitterness. “Yasmin working today?” Matt asked, lifting the cup slightly.

“You know it. Best barista in the Kitchen,” Foggy said. Then, “Is she coming back?”

Matt tilted his head, trying to parse Foggy’s overly-casual tone. “Who? Elektra? No. Why?”

“No reason,” Foggy said, still feigning nonchalance, while his heart raced.

Matt swiveled slightly on the bench, so he was facing Foggy. “Fog,” he said, gentle. “Are you worried about losing this… Avo-Uncle thing?” He put his cup carefully on the bench, then passed Molly over to Foggy. Foggy took her and squeezed her tight for a moment.

It was Foggy’s turn to shrug. “Maybe, a little.”

Matt laughed, reaching out through the spring air and resting his hand on Foggy’s shoulder, his other hand on Molly’s back. “I think you’re stuck with us, buddy,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me! Please let me know what you think - comments give me life.
> 
> Oh and in case it had you scratching your head, a 'nibling' is a niece or nephew. I think it's such a cool term.
> 
> If you liked this, please check out my other works.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcome - let me know what you think!
> 
> The DNR List is something sleepyMoritz and I came up with, which they used in their fic  
> [pack up your troubles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590607) \- it's a list of movies to never rewatch because they make our boys too emotional.


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